

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 1999 - 2012 by Zachary Zilba

www.sadiestories.com

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.

OVER THE BANISTER (from "Meet Me in St. Louis")

Words by HUGH MARTIN Music by RALPH BLANE

© 1943, 1944 (Renewed) METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER INC. All Rights Administered by EMI FEIST CATALOG INC. (Publishing) and ALFRED PUBLISHING CO., INC.

All Rights Reserved Used by Permission of:

ALFRED PUBLISHING CO., INC

ISBN: 1-4196-4493-9

ISBN: 978-1-4196-4493-1

First Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

SADIE STORIES

one

Another Day in Paradise

1999

Sunday mornings in the Cavanaugh house resembled something of a mass riot. He winced dread at the sound of his Mother humming Swing Low Sweet Chariot in the kitchen beneath him. Some screaming evangelist, while on television, sounded like he stood right at the foot of his bed. Children were playing outside, ringing some bicycle bell over and over and over and it buzzed like a fly in his ear. Gabriel had yet to rise. Though the sun erupted through his window, he refused to stir. He pulled the covers over his head, pressing his eyelids tightly together, desperately wanting this chaos to disappear. He gained the strength to pull one corner of his blanket down, just to look at the digital numbers on his alarm clock. 6:57. He wished he hadn't done that. Two minutes... Two minutes until that monstrous, high pitched beeping blared in his ear. An alarm, he was sure, could awake the dead. He thought for a moment, growing more agitated with each breath. The routine seemed old now. He had to wake up every morning, Monday through Friday, at five thirty. And then, on Sunday, notoriously known throughout history as the day of rest, he was awake. Apparently, so was everyone else on the street. One would think he would be used to this by now. After all, His Father had been bishop at the Episcopal Church of Greater Holiness since before he was even thought of, and attendance was never a mere suggestion.

The squeal vibrated his brain. His eardrums ached. Gabe jumped up and slammed his fist down on the clock, until finally, it died a dramatic death. The beeping went from a screech, to a low, muffled hum. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and hung his head, wiping his hands over his face, then through his sandy blond hair. He didn't want to move, but he mustered what little bit of strength he had and stood up, stretching his tall, six foot frame. Pressing his hands to the sky, every detailed muscle on his perfect body quivered. He flipped on the stereo on the night stand and dropped to the floor, immediately falling into his morning workout session; Two hundred push-ups, then one hundred sit-ups. It was only after this that he finally felt awake. His workouts were always rigorous, fast paced, and often appeared to be an act of violence. He pushed his body to its limit, pulling his own weight off the floor as hard and fast as his own strength would allow. This discipline was part of what had made him who he was today. Quarterback of the High School football team. Earned him a scholarship to the esteemed Harvard University, where he would start next fall, and even given him a certain respect among his peers. Gabe almost seemed unaware of his appearance. He knew he was not ugly, he knew he was physically fit, but he didn't let it go to his head. He considered himself average. He maintained a humble demeanor.

He stood up breathless, drenched in sweat. His bangs hung over his ice blue eyes. He pushed them back and walked over to the window, pulling it open. The warm May air blew against his wet, hardened body. He twirled around his long telescope that stood beside him, peering through it, watching as two little girls on pink bikes rode by. They were the Tuttle twins from down the street. Their Mother was his second grade teacher. He continued to glance around. Old Mrs. Minich was out pruning her bushes along her sidewalk. Her husband used to pull the neighborhood kids around on their sleds in the winter. They would crowd around his front door and beg him to come out and play, while Mrs. Minich would make all of the children hot chocolate. Then, last summer, Mr. Minich died of a heart attack in the middle of the night. The red and blue lights of the ambulance awakened Gabe. He stood at this very window and he watched them take Mr. Minich away. No one had seen, or heard from his wife much since then. She pretty much stayed to herself after that. Gabe figured she was still mourning him. After all, how can you just forget fifty years of marriage?

Gabe admired this neighborhood. It was always so quiet, so peaceful. Harrington Street was a high class neighborhood, set on a curvy road amidst large flourishing trees and heavily landscaped yards that belonged to the wealthy residents of these grand houses. No, they weren't just houses, more like... small mansions. It was a comfortable community where everyone knew everyone else, and you were always greeted with a smile. There was never any crime because the residents of Harrington Street recognized a stranger from a mile away and never took their eyes off of them. In that event, the women would have congregated on the corner, gossiping like nervous chickens, speculating about the stranger's reasons for being here. They usually found that it was only a visitor of Ms. Collier's. One of her many lovers. Ms. Collier was a fairly old woman, probably in her late seventies. Honestly, her true age was undistinguishable. She always wore exuberant clothes, capped with her iridescent white hair and ghostly pale skin. Her husband had died and left her millions. The women say she murdered him. Anyway, now she lives here, and about once a week, some unaware repair man, limo driver or delivery guy will waltz up to her door and not leave for hours. The ladies on the corner stand and wait to see how long he stays. They laugh, and giggle like little girls, all at expense of Ms. Collier. Those women would never invite her to one of their Tupperware parties, or card gatherings. She was the neighborhood outcast. Tabletop conversation. Without this scandal, what would they have to talk about at these parties? Their non-existent sex lives? The best type of laxatives to buy? What to do when you're having a 'Not so fresh,' day?

Gabe snickered to himself. He glanced at the empty house directly across the street. He could even see his own reflection in the upstairs window, opposite his. The Caudwells had lived there for as long as long as he could remember. Mr. Caudwell owned a renowned travel agency in town. Mrs. Caudwell was a housewife; One of those that gathered with the flock of birds to gossip on the corner. They had one son, Shawn. Shawn was Gabe's best friend, they grew up together right here on Harrington, and then a few months ago, Mr. Caudwell was accused of embezzling money from his agency, not giving people what they'd paid for. In an instant the whole family found they were friendless. Everyone thought it would bring down property value, having a criminal living on their exclusive block, but eventually, Mr. Caudwell found it was one of his employees stealing money, and he was cleared of all charges. But, his name was tarnished now, and the neighbors would rather be seen kicking a puppy than talking to a Caudwell. One day, Harrington Street woke up, and they had moved- Left in the night, away from invading eyes peeking from behind closed drapes. Who would be the new cast member of the ever eventful Harrington episodes? What would be the next scandal? Or, who rather, who would be the next scandal.

Gabe shook his head, smiling. Just then, a loud knock came to his bedroom door. He drew himself out of his own world. "Yeah?"

His mother opened the door and bounced inside. His mother always bounced, or at least appeared to. She was a happy woman, always found wearing a smile. She stood a little over five feet tall, and carried a portly build. Her short brown hair was always perfectly in place. "It's getting late! Your Father's sermon starts at nine. You haven't even had your shower yet, and you're sweating something fierce? Are you getting sick?" She asked concerned.

"No, I was just getting around, trying to wake myself up." He answered innocently.

She walked over beside him and glanced out the window. "Someone bought the Caudwell house." She offered.

"Who?" Gabe asked curiously.

"Martha Reilly. You know, the real estate lady- is a cousin of Ginny Harper's. She said it was a family moving all the way from California. Imagine that."

Gabe though for a moment, then asked the obvious, "Why would someone move from California all the way to Sadie, Connecticut?" He instantly stopped. Oh my God! He was becoming one of them! Next he would be standing out on the corner in a house coat and curlers! His Mother was oblivious to his sudden panic. "I hear the Father is a lawyer, guess he belonged to some firm in San Francisco, he's coming to Sadie to start his own practice. Martha says they have a son your age." It seemed Mary Cavanaugh, as saintly as she seemed, had a weakness for dirt herself. She had to know everyone's story, Where they came from, what they did, how long they'd been married, what positions they.... well... She knew everything.

Gabe watched her rush around his room picking up his clothes off the floor. "Mom, you think Dad would be really pissed if I didn't go to church today?" Gabe asked, biting his bottom lip.

Mary stopped and looked him dead square in the eye, "Don't say pissed in front of an open window, its slang. People will think you're vulgar. And yes, your Father expects all three of you kids in the front pew at eight thirty sharp. We have to set an example," she announced in a forward tone, as if this is something he should've known, and tacked to his forehead, as to never, ever forget. He figured he'd have to be there, it was a family rule. Gabe's older brother and sister were there every Sunday morning with their betrothed, front left pew, like ducks all in as row. That's how he pictured them. At the end of the pew sat Joy, his prim and proper Twenty-six year old sister, always found in a floral patterned sun dress in the summer, a long skirt and blouse in the winter. Next to her sat Jimbo, her plastic, Ken doll husband. He looked like his head had been carved from wood; it was sort of flat, with modest features. His coal black hair appeared to be glued to his head. He isn't the smartest creature ever to grace the planet, that's obvious the second he begins to utter a sentence. Overall though, Gabe liked Jimbo. He was a nice guy. He worked hard at the plastics factory outside Sadie. He supplied well for Joy, and that was what really mattered, they were happy. Next to Jimbo sits Gabe's twenty-four year old Brother, Christopher. Chris is a handsome guy, he and Gabe resemble their Father's Irish side of the family. Chris had Blonde hair, and blue eyes. He was about the same size as Gabe, except Chris was a bit thinner. He was married to Kayla, who always held his hand during service. She also always managed to sing hymns louder than anyone else in the parish. She believes she was blessed with the voice of a bird; no one has the heart to tell her it could kill one. Kayla was a nurse at Mercy Hospital in New Haven. She is fairly pretty, but a little confident. Then came Gabe's Mother, Mary, happy and smiling, always bearing a positive attitude... about everything. People bring her their problems, and she gives wise advice, healing their lives. She's like a band-aid for the wounded soul. Gabe loved her for that. Gabe always sat beside his Mother. He never uttered a word, stared straight up at his father, who stood like stone behind the pulpit.

When it came time to sing, Gabe mouthed the words, No one could tell. Kayla's voice drowned everyone out anyway. They all sat there, the humble Cavanaugh Clan, the pillars of the community, the picture of perfection.

"Get your shower, and get dressed, we can't be late. We have to get there before the congregation." Mary explained anxiously. She walked out of his room, leaving him standing alone.

He sighed heavily, another Sunday. Couldn't God have designated early evening for worship services. Doesn't Sabbath mean anything to people anymore?

Martin Cavanaugh stood sturdy before his congregation of a mere thirty disciples. They listened to every syllable he uttered. Gabe was dressed in a white button up shirt, with a black tie, and black slacks. He sat conservatively, with his hands in his lap. His Father's words wrung through his mind, echoing off the towering walls, high ceiling and stained glass windows.

"Temptation is the greatest of all evil, and it's everywhere!" His father began. "It's in our schools, on our televisions and radios. Billboards along the highways, they want you to buy cigarettes, so they paste up a half-naked woman for the world to see. What's she doing? Smoking. Are you going to get lucky if you smoke that brand of cigarettes? Are you going to win the lottery? No. On the radio, you hear this beautiful voice singing about sex, and all of her boyfriends. What she did with them, how she did it, and kids think it's cool! They know all the lyrics, have the albums.. Thirteen, Fourteen year old girls idolizing this singer- they might want to see for themselves what inspired her to sing about this. What makes it so great! On T.V., ladies in skimpy underwear bouncing around, throwing back their bleached hair...." Gabe's Father began to mimic the commercials, "Call 1-900-FOXY-LADY. People actually pick up the phone and call these things, that's why they run rampant in our society. It's all about sex today. Where's the love? Has it all died? Does it matter anymore? Does anyone still care? They're giving teenagers condoms in school, saying, 'It's all right, go out and fornicate with whomever, but if you catch a disease it's your own fault.' They give permission to our children to go have sex, but by God don't let them catch you in school with a bible. Kids today are carrying knives to school. Guns, mace, you name it; it's in school with our children. But, a kid bows his head to pray, and he's instantly expelled. What's wrong with this picture?" The crowd clapped with unanimous support.

Martin Cavanaugh was very passionate about his beliefs, but Gabe had heard all of this before. His Father wanted to tackle the world, solve all of today's problems his way. Unfortunately, no one was listening except these few loyal people, and that wasn't going to stop billboards from going up, or abolish a popular radio song. No television stations were going to pull their commercials because of this sermon. Gabe thought it was about the big picture, not about the isolated issues preached about by his Father. The world wouldn't stop, and alter its direction because of this one Sunday service. But, his Father wanted to make a difference, he wanted to help, he wanted to be heard, and it is with that in mind, that he took his stand every Sunday. Next Sunday, it will just be another issue, and his Father would speak just as passionately about that, for he was a man of immense proportion. His spirit spilled from every crack of this failing church. He believed in what he was saying, believed he could make a change, and in his own way, he would. These people in this church will probably spit on the next half-naked woman from a cigarette ad they see in a magazine. They might even write nasty letters to television stations that air phone sex commercials. That would be enough for his Father. Gabe admired this man, and even hoped that, one day, he himself would feel that passion and want to conquer the world.

Rachel Porter sat quietly alongside the calm waters of the Olympic size swimming pool in her backyard. She was comfortably situated on the edge. She had been hoping to get a little sun, but without realizing it, she had gotten wrapped up in her book, and never removed her shorts or her shirt. She was a beautiful girl of seventeen, but didn't look a day over twelve. Her long dark hair hung in waves over her soft, pale shoulders. She took a deep emotion filled breath, and let the book collapse against her breasts as she wept quietly. She lifted her sunglasses from her green eyes and wiped way her tears, squinting from the unmerciful sun. She laid the book aside and stood up, silently berating herself for crying. Why did she have to be so sensitive? It was just a book.

She didn't notice the figure standing inside the house, behind the heavy glass patio doors. She ran her toe along the waves of the warm surface; it felt so good against her tender feet. She then knelt, cupping her hands to scoop some water, and lifted it out of the pool, watching a clear stream escape between her fingers. She was the epitome of innocence, appearing almost childlike. Then, she heard the patio doors slide open, Startled she turned and watched as her tall, handsome boyfriend strode toward her. His face chiseled to perfection. His thick hair, short in back, longer in front, blew backward. She was so happy that he was hers. She yelled his name and quickly stood up, spreading her arms, "GABE!"

They met each other with a gentle embrace, then a modest kiss. "I missed you," Rachel whispered, her arms draped over his wide shoulders. She rubbed her hand over the back of his neck caressing it. She stared into his eyes with a slight grin on her flawless face.

"Church ran late, but if it's any consolation, I sped all the way here." His smile had been known to weaken the knees of dozens of girls at Lincoln High School. His sparkling white teeth had not even the most subtle hint of past dental work.

Rachel pulled out of his arms and walked over beside her lawn chair, leaning down to pick up her book from the ground. Gabe watched her intensely. There was something precious about this girl, her sweet, tender voice. Her tiny, turned-up nose fit her round baby face perfectly. Rachel had never been one to wear make-up, even in sixth grade, when all of the other girls began to show up to class wearing their Mother's dark blue eye shadow smeared up into their eyebrows, and bright red lipstick pasted mostly on their teeth, and caked in the corners of their mouths, Rachel never followed suit. Perhaps, because her skin was still as soft as a newborn infants. As far as he knew, she hadn't even suffered so much as a blemish. He thought for a moment, as he watched her pull her long hair back into a heavy pony tail, how fragile she was. Lovely, not so much in a womanly fashion, but more like a debutante, if you must. Her naive tendencies and passable nature were pure in form. Gabe wanted her to stay that way.

"I'm going into the house to throw on some jeans, I'll just be a second, don't go anywhere," She announced as she raced into the house.

Gabe followed her inside and watched her disappear up the winding staircase, then out of sight. He glanced around the living room; it appeared to have the touch of a professional decorator. Everything matched, from the black leather furniture, to the dark, heavy, floral printed drapes. Marble statues of twisted figures sat on the brass tables. Gabe always thought the statues were odd, one depicted three figures, all lacking detail, meshed together, reaching into the air. The other looked like the head of a dog, but with no eyes. In a way they seemed ridiculous. Gabe never got the whole 'modern art" rage, it all seemed pointless. How beauty could be found in something so benign, so erratic. That was Rachel's Mother's taste. Carol Porter didn't really mind if it looked like it was molded from mud, what mattered was the material worth. How much it cost. She did have a tasteless lust for highly expensive, but pointless decor. It was more for show than sentiment. Carol had a prominent reputation for consciously keeping a low profile. She never associated much with the other women in town, didn't belong to any clubs. Gabe had wondered why she never stepped into her husband's spotlight; after all, Steven Porter was the County Prosecutor. He was a well-respected man, always in the headlines for his aggressive, often ruthless tactics. A modern day crime fighter, married to his job. All while Carol remained compliantly in his shadow, From Gabe's observations, they had a strange marriage. For as many years as he'd come to this house, he had never once seen them share affection in any manner, never kissed, held hands, or even spoke to each other in a loving way.

Gabe quietly cleared his throat and walked to the massive fireplace. Above the mantle hung large portraits of Rachel, documenting her life from her birth, until today. Her mother was always taking her to be drawn, etched or photographed by someone. Gabe studied each photo. It didn't seem that Rachel had changed much throughout the years; she still beamed with conventional radiance. She was what every Mother had hoped for, beautiful, intelligent, and charming. It seemed as though anyone looking at these pictures would think they knew her, though they didn't, they wanted to; truly untainted people are too few these days. Everyone wanted Rachel to be their best friend. She was admired by her peers, respected by her elders, and her genuine kindness all to often became a great weakness. When she was sad, she could cry, and set off a chain reaction of tears among onlookers, all not wanting this gentle creature to weep alone. When she was angry, she was silent. Not so much to get a reaction, but because if she spoke, she was afraid she might make the situation worse. She never argued on her own behalf, she simply apologized for whatever she had done or said, and politely asked for forgiveness. She found something positive in every circumstance, and never pitied herself. She never held a grudge, and when someone would commit a trespass against her, she would tirelessly analyze the situation, and then end up finding herself at fault. Rachel wanted everyone to be happy all of the time, and she often went to extremes to make it that way.

Gabe recalled the time they had flown to Hawaii for their freshmen summer trip. They had a layover in Los Angeles, and had walked through the lobbies and terminals staring through the wall size windows at the huge city outside. People scurried past them, all appearing to be in a massive hurry, like they were all late. Passerby's stared straight ahead, and made eye contact with no one. Rachel must've said hello to ten people before realizing the folks there wouldn't bother replying, or even offer a smile in acknowledgment of her. She didn't say anything, though Gabe saw disappointment in her eyes each time someone would fly by.

Finally, while on their way back to their gate, a man stopped her, gave her a tiny pink card that simply read: 'I like your smile. Give Ten Dollars to the homeless.' Gabe tried to pull her away from the solicitor, but Rachel persisted. She had all of her cash on the plane, and promised to return, then thanked him endlessly. Over an hour had passed, and they finally began to board their flight. Rachel dug deep into her bag and pulled out ten dollars. She looked at Gabe blankly, "You think this is enough?" She asked. Her sincerity was all too valid.

Despite Gabe's attempt to thwart her, she insisted on going back into the airport to find the man. When she did, she apologized for the delay, gave him twenty dollars, and sparked up a conversation.

"We'll miss our plane Rachel," Gabe would say repeatedly.

Rachel would continue her conversation. "Are you really homeless? Where do you sleep? How long has it been this way? Don't you have family, or friends you could stay with?"

Gabe shifted his weight back and forth, "Rachel, we'll miss our flight," he would say again.

Rachel just held up one finger, signaling that she would be just one more second. "What happens if you get sick? How do you stay warm? How do you eat? Do you ever get afraid? Are people cruel to you? Ever get lonely? You should go to a church."

Finally, Gabe pulled on her shirt, forcing her away from the Vietnam Veteran, named Warren, who was suffering the after effects of Agent Orange. He had never been to church, ate from dumpsters, slept in an abandoned car, and his family had all lived in Oklahoma, and he had, at one time, a dog named Fred, who was hit by a car.

With an adoring wave, Rachel said her good-bye's as Gabe dragged her through the crowds. They reached their gate just in time to see their plane pull into the air. The entire six years of their relationship had been full of instances like this. Rachel's compassion and curiosity was just who she was, and it was partly why Gabe both loved, and protected her.

Rachel bounced back down the stairs, a brilliant smile on her face, her green eyes catching every ray of light from the crystal chandelier above. She was dressed in a pair of Levi's, and a red blouse, with a black, velvet vest. "Ready," she sang as she skipped toward him, taking his hand into her own, weaving her fingers through his. They walked to the door, he opened it for her, and they stepped out into the warm afternoon sun, embarking on their Sunday afternoon walk as they had every week since the day they met.

Evening crept over the small suburb of Sadie, Connecticut. This was the time when the lights lining the street came on with a loud buzz, along with the porch lights of every house on the street. You would see fire flies pop up from the freshly cut grass, illuminating at irregular intervals. Occasionally, you would hear a Mother calling from her kitchen window, summoning her children to supper. This was when Harrington Street grew quiet, settling down for another calm night.

Gabe walked down the sidewalk toward home. He had his hands tucked neatly in the pockets of his slacks. Everyone on this street knew him. They would call out greetings, and Gabe would kindly lift his head and smile. He kicked his feet at the cracks, his rubber soles bouncing off the cement.

As he walked past the Tuttle house, he lifted one of the twins pink bikes from the walkway, and propped it up on its stand, then continued on. Except for the crickets singing their nightly tunes from below, it was silent. Gabe stopped for a moment, just to glance up. The moon had risen about halfway. It was so magical, it's white light casting a heavenly aura through the thin clouds around it, and it filtered through the canopy above, shimmering though the shadows like white waterfalls. He took a deep breath, filling his lugs with the cool air. These were sacred moments to him. Moments when he was completely alone, didn't have to utter a word, didn't have to move a muscle, and could absorb all this magnificence surrounding him. Appreciate the things taken for granted by most. It was now, that the crickets were singing to him, and the moonlight that drenched his face was meant for just that, for this time was his own. He had an urge just lay down on the lawn and let his eyes see all there was to see. The slight breeze rustled the teardrop shaped leaves on the tree just above him. The last bird that remained proudly perched on the telephone wire. The distant sound of a jet, rumbling through the sky. The glistening expanse of stars, like holes poked in the top of a shoe box. The lingering scent of salt, carried through the air, swept from the ocean. With every breath, he accepted what this night offered. He was grateful, grateful to be alive. Grateful to be standing here at this very moment, grateful for the tingling sensation that crawled over his skin with the breeze. A smile grew on his face, and he began to walk again.

He was surprised when the headlights of a large truck appeared not to far ahead; he watched it as it roared past him. He read the sign painted on the side of it, "Smith and Son Movers," it boasted in bold red letters.

He picked up his pace and as he got beyond the trees to his own front yard, he looked across the street and stared at the old Caudwell house. It had come to life again, all of the lights were on, and drapes had been put up. A White Convertible sat in the wide driveway, and someone was moving around downstairs. He watched as, one by one, several of the downstairs lights went out. Soon, all that remained was the dim light from the center window on the second floor. Gabe could see the window was open, because the sheer curtains were flowing outward, dancing. He watched curiously as a slim figure moved in front of them, then disappeared.

Gabe slowly turned away and started up toward his own house, turning briefly, hoping to catch a glimpse, but failing. He walked inside and his Mother and Father were sitting quietly in the dining room, both nestled at the opposite ends of the long, eight plate oak table. Gabe wasn't surprise to find them sitting so far apart, neither of them speaking a word. It was always this way unless there was company.

Upon seeing him, his mother jumped up from her chair, lifting her plate, "Our new neighbors are in. Dad and I watched the movers take in their stuff. Then they came about an hour later. Honey, that man drives a convertible! Did you see it? Imagine the insurance he must pay," She exclaimed, as if honestly concerned.

Gabe followed her into the Kitchen, "So, What's the story? They deliver any Coffins, or Voodoo props? Maybe a big wooden box with a sign on it, 'DO NOT FEED THE CHILD,' "Gabe joked, poking fun at her.

His mother rolled her eyes as she rinsed off her plate in the sink. "I didn't get a good look at them. If they were deviates of any sort, the police would have been through to warn us. You know they have that law now, if a convicted murderer, or child molester moves into a neighborhood, the police go around with fliers and stuff." She stopped for a moment, as if coming to a blunt realization, her expression was grim as she spoke, "I don't think we got anything."

Just then Gabe's Dad marched into the kitchen, and handed his wife his plate. "There are no deviates on Harrington, Mary, just a bunch of housewives with overactive imaginations," he stated before kissing her on the cheek.

Mary wrinkled her nose, "My imagination is just fine, besides, I'm not the one who said Lola Collier murdered her husband, it was Audrey Shooman down the street. She said she knew her ex-husband's sister's best friend's brother, and he told her.

"Martin rolled his eyes as he took Gabe's shoulders into his hands, looking him over, half grinning. "Look at you son, all that muscle, look just like me, when I was your age."

Gabe grinned, "Dad, you're five foot six and one hundred and forty pounds."

"So I've shrunk a little, time does that to you, you wait until you get my age, you'll be five foot six and one hundred and forty pounds. Enjoy the view while you're up there kiddo!" They all laughed and Martin hugged his son, patting him roughly on the back. "Oh, did I tell you? We're using the basement of the church for your graduation party. The entire congregation will be there to see you off to school. They all want one last, good look at the future quarterback star!"

Gabe pursed his lips modestly, "I'm not trying to be a star dad, I just want to play the game," he stated, as he has many times before.

"And that's why you'll be a star, Gabe. You have nothing but honest motivation, your intentions are pure, and God knows. You're going to go off to Harvard, and you're going to make all of Sadie proud of Gabriel Cavanaugh. You have it in you. It's all there. The makings of a winner." Martin gave his youngest one last good slap on the shoulder and then walked back into the dining room.

Gabe was silent as his mother pulled out a rack and began to load the dishwasher. "You know, I hear there was a trial and everything. That's probably why she left New York, maybe she was running from the law. Lucille Farber said she thought she saw her on America's Most Wanted, you know, that Television show? She almost called in, but she was partly afraid for her life! Last thing that poor Lucille needs is to have Lola Collier show up on her doorstep with a butcher knife. That's what they say she used, you know?" Mary spoke very matter-of-factly.

"You ever wonder if maybe Ms. Collier is just a sad woman trying to get away from a tragic past and start her life over?" Gabe asked.

Mary met him with an awkward glance. "It's the millennium, Gabe, you never know anymore." Gabe walked over and kissed her on the forehead, "I love you Mom. Goodnight." Then he turned and walked out of the room.

He opened his bedroom door and stepped inside. The smell hit him in the face like a fist to the sinuses. He flipped on the light and saw his Mother had cleaned his room again... and sprayed a gallon of lemon scented air freshener... again. He waved his hand over his face, then walked over to a fan on his desk and flipped it on. "Jesus, Mom," he said under his breath. He sat down at his desk in front of his computer, turning it on. His face soured as he began to taste the lemons. He gagged and jumped up, rushing to his window, throwing up the sash. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes half dizzy. She was going to kill him one of these days.

When he re-opened his burning eyes, he found himself staring directly into the upstairs window of the house across the street. He could see someone sitting at their dresser. They had shoulder length dark hair, and wore a long white button up shirt, but that was all he could see. He halted for a moment as he glanced at the telescope at is side. He held his breath, still unsure if he should. He wanted to know who they were, so he could introduce himself. His Mom would want him to do this. It was human nature to spy. Was it spying? Maybe if just peeked, only for a second, it wouldn't hurt. Gabe stood up straight and turned toward the scope. He nonchalantly tapped the metal top with his fingertips, and then a little harder until it moved just a bit.

He tapped it again.

With an audible squeak, it spun too far to the left. With his other hand, he began tapping it from the other side. His tongue was placed firmly in his cheek as he toyed with the contraption. It inadvertently stopped, aimed directly into the window opposite his. He bit his bottom lip gently and sat down in the wooden chair directly under him. He swallowed hard and brought his eye halfway to the scope. Then, a little closer, just a bit more, until he was staring into it. He closed one eye tightly and watched intensely. At first he thought he was staring at a young woman, probably no older than himself. Then, he thought it was a boy. They were thin, with shining black hair. They sat sideways at a dresser, their elbows were propped up on the surface, and they held a tissue tightly in one fist. So hauntingly, those deep set eyes, fair skin, and soft, puffy lips. They wiped their small hand over their forehead, tilting their head back, then bringing it forward again into the palms of their hands.

They were crying.

Gabe couldn't take his eye from the lens. Why were they so sad? The person turned slightly, toward him. Gabe quickly lifted his eye from the telescope, turning sideways, hoping that they didn't see him. Then, he moved his eyeballs to the very corner of his sockets, to where they ached from the strain, until he was certain he hadn't been noticed. He turned to the telescope again and resumed his investigation. He watched this figure move their hand over their long hair. This creature was stunning, but so sad. Why? What would make someone cry like this? His own heart began to feel heavy. Something made him want to be there, in their room, he felt an inexplicable longing to know them.

Suddenly his telephone screamed out an alarming ring. Jolted from his focused thoughts, Gabe jerked backward, falling over. He flailed his arms to catch his balance, but the entire chair slammed to the floor. He nervously kicked his feet trying to get up, and he knocked the telescope over. He rolled from under his chair and grabbed his phone mid ring. He tried to sound calm and collected. He wasn't.

"Yes?" He said out of breath, trying not to sound suspicious.

"Hi, hon. You were supposed to call me when you got home," Rachel said whining sarcastically. Gabe knelt down and picked the chair up off the floor, "Oh, I'm sorry; I just got a little busy. I was just going to call you, though," he lied. It was an innocent lie. A white lie.

"I forgive you, just don't forget to pick me up for school in the morning," she continued.

Gabe was still out of the loop, trying to catch his breath, "Okay, I will," he replied, paying her no attention.

"You will? You mean you won't, right?" She asked almost shocked.

Gabe brushed some sweat from his brow, "Right, right, I won't," he stammered.

A quiet pause ensued. "Are you mad at me, Gabe?" She queried, suddenly scanning her thoughts, she couldn't recollect anything she may have said or done.

"No. Of course not, I was just... my mom sprayed that lemon crap in my room again. I'm high," he replied, praying she would buy it. He still had trouble listening to her.

"Open a window," Rachel kindly suggested.

Gabe stood up solid, his eyes quickly grew wide, "What?!" "I said open a window, let some fresh air in," She repeated.

"I already did that, it's open, trust me," Gabe answered in a high pitched tone.

"You have football practice tomorrow, right? I have Cheer leading practice. Maybe we could grab something afterward, maybe run through Burger Mania. They have the best fries," Rachel attested, "Then, we can come back here and watch some telescope," she added, desperately trying to spark his interest in their conversation.

Gabe's insides sunk. He feverishly switched ears, "W-What? What did you say?" He stuttered. This time he listened carefully, as if she were reading his verdict in a trial.

Rachel said it again, this time more slowly, trying not to let him hear her slight agitation. "I said, we can come back to my house and watch some television."

Gabe started to laugh, he couldn't help it, "Television, I thought you... I thought you..." He couldn't finish his sentence before Rachel interjected, half laughing to herself, but wondering just why he seemed to behave so strangely. "What's so funny?" She asked.

Gabe immediately stopped laughing, his face dropped as he regained a serious tone, "Nothing, not a thing, just tired, I had to get up with the chickens this morning," he retorted. He leaned over to glance out his window, hoping the mysterious figure would still be there, but he couldn't tell. Rachel was silent for a moment. "Have you met your neighbor yet?" She asked innocently. "W-Why do you ask? No. "Gabe shot back, trying to hide his guilt. He could hear Rachel take a deep breath, "Mrs. Wayland said he was starting school tomorrow, he's in our home room, remember?" She explained as if he should recall this. He never listened in Home room, there was no reason to.

"I don't remember, I must've been out of it."

Rachel continued, trying to jog his memory, "She said his name, Kyle." She jumped to correct herself. " No, not Kyle. Something Evans, his last name is Evans, Corey Evans, that's it! I must be getting fumes from your end," she joked.

Gabe stifled a cough, "Cory Evans, huh? I don't remember," he replied in deep thought.

Rachel giggled, "I'm going to buy you some Ginko weed," She laughed.

"Some what?"

"Ginko pills, it's an herb that improves your memory. My mom takes it, she's an herbal fanatic," Rachel explained.

Gabe sighed, "I should go, Rach. I'll pick you up in the morning, okay?"

Rachel was quiet, he could sense her disappointment, "Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow then," She said, her tone of voice trailing downward.

He felt incriminated for a moment, then redeemed himself, "I love you," he whispered softly. He could almost feel her spirits lift, "I love you too," she cheered.

Then instantly, Gabe threw the receiver down onto the base and leapt toward the window, picking up the telescope from the ground, balancing it on its pedestal, and once again, took aim. He began watching the sad boy across from him. He still wept. Sitting there in silence, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. A thousand thoughts flew like a flock of sparrows through Gabe's mind. There was something about this Corey, something unique, something special, something that had piqued Gabe's interest. Corey looked so alone, like the last of a dying breed. He looked like an angel, mysterious, genderless, but so fantastically beautiful. Gabe watched as Corey pushed his hair behind his ear. Even his hands were pretty. They were small, with slender fingers, long fingernails. Why does this boy have long fingernails? Why does this boy not really look like a boy, but not especially like a girl? What was it? There was altogether something unnatural about Corey Evans. Gabe rattled his mind, trying to pinpoint what made him so attractive. He couldn't. This sad soul across from him was like nothing he had ever seen before, no boy, no girl, no one.

Gabe watched the light across the street go out. Now darkness loomed around Corey. Gabe felt helpless. He wanted to hear his voice, put it with the face he had watched so intently. Did he sound as unusual as he looked? Gabe sat back in his chair. His eyes staring straight ahead, not focusing, not blinking. He was probing his mind. He glanced over at the telephone on the floor, then glanced back to the black window. It wouldn't hurt to call, just to say hello, maybe bring up his spirits. What would he say? "Hi this is your neighbor across the street; I was just spying on you through my handy dandy telescope and saw you were crying. You want to tell me about it?" That sounded stupid. Surely the guy would think he was one brick short of a chimney. A psychopath, a voyeur. He couldn't say that, it would probably scare the living daylights out of him. Gabe stood up and began to pace, biting the skin on the side of his thumb with his incisors. He didn't have to say who he was; it could just be casual, like a wrong number. No! What if his dad answered? Maybe he could just be normal, tell Corey who he was, and welcome him to the neighborhood. That wasn't such a bad idea, and it would set them out on the right foot. Except, he could have this guy pegged all wrong. Corey Evans could be some crude punk who'd yell at him for calling after he'd gone to bed. Or worse, one of those snotty ass rich kids. You know, the ones who you want to slap them so hard the color flies from their hair. That was it; Corey was one of those California kids. Bitchy and self-absorbed.

Gabe knelt down to the telephone. Who was he kidding? This kid was over there crying, and alone. If he was rude, Gabe would just hang up on him, without saying who he was.

He anxiously picked up the receiver and dialed information. An operator quickly answered, "Sadie information, your listing please," The operator said in her nasally voice.

Gabe's lungs drew less air with each breath; he could hear the blood shuttling through his veins. In his ears his heart sounded like a base drum. His hands started to sweat. Why was he so nervous?

The operator asked again, "What listing please?"

His head became light, as if it would float off his shoulders. He replied slowly, "Evans please, I'm not sure what first name it would be under, but the address is 1407 Harrington Street." The woman was silent for a second. Gabe could hear her punching keys on her computer. They probably weren't even listed, or they most likely didn't have a telephone yet. Then the Operator returned. "Hold for your listing," She snorted.

Gabe closed his eyes as a mechanical, monotone voice spoke the numbers in his ear. He slammed his finger down upon the base, disconnecting the call. Why was this a big deal? He lifted his finger from the hook and began to dial. It started to ring. Gabe scratched the back of his neck. He almost felt scared, but what for?

Suddenly someone answered. It was a man, a very gruff sounding man. Gabe winced and hung up quickly. He stood completely still. Was that gentle looking Corey? No way.

Disillusioned, he put the phone back on the desk, stepped over to the bed and fell onto it. What did he think he was doing?

Damn those lemon fumes.

two

A Boy to Beautiful

The campus of Lincoln High school was not your average one. The grass was neatly trimmed with the name of the school carved into the ground, and colored in with purple and white pansies. Tall oak trees provided shade from the blistering sun, and students, dressed in their designer clothes, took shelter there, using it as a designated place for socialization. Another crowd would find company around the grand water fountain in the center of the main walkway. Most of the students drove their fancy sport cars to school every morning, while other less fortunate students, barely lucky enough to live within the Lincoln district, arrived on bikes and roller blades.

The football stadium behind the school was known for its record breaking games. The Lincoln Little Giants had a reputation of turning out some of the finest football players in the major leagues.

Gabe and Rachel walked through the hallway of Lincoln High school, hand in hand, as they always did. Other kids smiled and stopped briefly just to see how they were. Everyone loved them; they were the mascot couple for the school. Everyone wanted to be around them, more for the popularity status than for the company. Gabe watched the familiar faces walk by him. These were all people he had grown up with- Shared nine months out of the year with, since kindergarten.

He had a story about every one of them. Dan Busey for instance; Dan stood there at his locker looking all sophisticated with his hair combed back, and his neatly pressed clothes. His thick glasses slid down the bridge of his wide nose. His nostrils flared when he spoke, and it was odd, because most of the time, Dan breathed through his mouth, you wouldn't think he'd need to with nasal passages that big. They resembled Black vortex holes. And, if you got to close to him, they'd suck you in. Dan was a brain. He made the honor roll every semester, and was teacher's pet to most of the educators at Lincoln. It's funny how people change. In First Grade, Dan was the class clown, always being put in isolation for disrupting Mrs. Castor's class. Gabe remembered when Dan hit her on the ass and snagged his metal watch band on the pocket of her slacks. They literally had to cut him off of her.

Then there was Angie Feldon. Angie was always the oddball. She had moved to Sadie back in the Third Grade. Her parents had pulled her out of parochial school because of the high degree of torment she suffered. Partly because she weighed about Two hundred and Fifty pounds, wore long tent-like skirts with blouses that clashed, and had three visible scars lining each side of her chubby face. The treatment of Angie didn't improve much when she transferred to public school. Kids still made fat jokes, pulled her chair out from under her. One time Gabe had pulled her skirt down at recess and had to stand against the wall for punishment. Angie never fought back; she would cry and go sit alone on the Merry-go-round until the bell summoned them back to class. Gabe felt bad about that now, but they were just kids then, now he was almost an adult. Angie remained the same, she was still large in size, only now she wore black to school nearly every day and never uttered a word to anyone.

Rachel and Gabe stopped in front of their classroom door. She turned to him, twisting her fingers in his palm. "I'll really miss this, you know. Walking down these hallways together, holding hands, talking about our plans for the future, Next week it's all over, we walk up on stage, collect our diplomas, and leave forever... kind of freaks me out," Rachel confessed, tilting her head to the side.

Gabe cupped her blushing face in his large hand. It seemed gargantuan against her smallness, "It'll be great Rachel. Think of it as a step into the future, doors opening to new opportunities. It's all part of growing up," he consoled her, in a soft voice. He withdrew his hand from her, waiting for her to smile. She didn't.

"You know, you're leaving for Harvard, I'm going to NYU. I don't know if I can stand being away from you like that, Gabe. We've never been apart before. You'll meet some pretty girl, fall in love and forget about me... I couldn't handle something like that. It would kill me."

Gabe just gazed into her soft eyes. He was really taken by her sincerity, her candor. He moved his face directly to hers, touching noses, staring eye to eye, grinning, "You are a worry wart. I'm going off to school, I'm going to play my ass off, get myself established and you're going to move out there, into our nice house and lounge around all day while I make you the proudest woman on earth." He gave her a fast peck on the nose.

Rachel smiled widely, like a little girl she turned a shade of crimson. "I already am," she spouted contentedly, and then she walked into the classroom, leaving Gabe behind.

Gabe stood solid; everything that once seemed so organized was now chaos. He loved Rachel, but he was only seventeen years old, he had his entire life ahead of him to see new places, experience new things, meet new people, and continue to grow. He could never stand to hurt this girl, she had been so loyal for so long. It would be sinister to betray all she had devoted to him, but on the same coin, he needed to find himself before integrating someone else's entire life into his own. This was the girl his parents expected him to marry. This was the girl with whom he'd shared his first and only kiss with, way back in seventh grade. The first and only girl he'd ever been out on a date with. The only girl, other than his Mother, he's told he loved. So many firsts, and it struck Gabe in such a massive way. It was like being hit by a semi, so many onlys. Perhaps too many. It was like reading the first page of the same book every day, seeing the same people, going the same places WITH those same people. Never a change, just constant security in repetition, and there was still so much left to read, but he hadn't bothered turning the page. He knew where he had been in life, he was still there, he hadn't moved. Others had simply passed him by while he remained behind. It was like being on a treadmill, walking and walking, with no real destination, therefore, no surprises, or issues to deal with. What had he done? Maybe Rachel felt this way too. Maybe she realized this is some never-ending cycle. The same thing over and over again. He could practically foretell the content of a conversation with any given person because he knew them all like the back of his hand. He almost knew what they would say before they said it, how they would react to his replies, their facial expressions, their hand gestures. He looked around the school at the kids rushing to their classes, bumping into each other like sheep being herded in different directions. Those faces, he knew everyone. He knew August Sanderson, the soft spoken, timid girl that had been raped by her uncle in seventh grade. She came to school until her last month of pregnancy, then disappeared for the rest of the year. She re-surfaced the next year, and no one said a word, though everyone knew her story. Gabe had known her since the beginning of elementary school. He knew she had a lisp, liked to sing, and hated to eat in front of strangers. He knew she was from a middle class home on the west side of Sadie. Next, Gabe looked at Michael Sivanni. Michael had worn leg braces up until two years ago. His big brother, Tony, would always protect him when others would taunt and tease. The braces were to correct his severely bowed legs. Now he plays for the Basketball team, is dating Martha Walters, and enjoys dirt bikes. Natalie Finn, snobby bitch. Steve Bowersox, most likely to contract a venereal disease, if he hadn't already. He was known for manipulating girls into carnal situations. Thomas Bradford, a dentist's son. Never had a girlfriend. Has a dark side to him. Antisocial. Spends all his time drawing in a rugged, old sketchbook, known to be the local pot-head, most likely to be in Jail before graduation. Max Dennis. In and out of foster homes for years. Had a nervous breakdown when he was thirteen. Jenny Crabtree. Sweet girl. Prone to allergies. Collects porcelain dolls, brought them to show and tell in first grade. Gabe felt nauseous. He had grown up in a box. Maybe those stars were really air holes, so they could breathe. He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip as he stared at the floor. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe that's what life was, some jagged pieces of a jigsaw puzzle meant to have a meticulous order. It was undoubtedly this way for everyone in Sadie, yet they never questioned it, or pondered the matter. People here get a career, get married, buy a house, have two kids, maybe a dog, and simply wait to die? But wasn't there an entire world out there filled with sights unseen, places unexplored, unfamiliar faces? Sadie wasn't the end, it couldn't be. There was so much more than this sheltered life he led, here in the comfort of privilege and obscurity. Everyone knew him here, they knew where he came from, what his life plans were, where he would go to college, who his family was. But, there were other places. Places where no one knew him. Where he was fresh, and new.

The school bell, mounted high on the brick wall above him chimed. He shook himself out of his trance and stepped into the classroom. Rachel smiled at him from the back row. He was greeted with several "Hey Gabe's," and "Hello's" as he walked down the row of students, he named each one in his head. Gale Wise, math whiz, excelled in everything. Andrew Kavarack, ordinary jock. Head to big for his shoulders. Maggie Cox, always dresses like she's in the seventies, still trick-or-treats on Halloween.

And then... He suddenly stopped. Corey Evans, weeps alone at night. Even more captivating up close. Perfectly shaped eye-brows, long, dark eyelashes lining eyes that almost looked black, like fine cut onyx. He wore a blue and white flannel shirt, cuffs unbuttoned. A pendant hung around his neck, a small silver crescent moon resting in the hallow gape. Not a hint of an Adam's Apple, or facial hair. He looked to feline to be a man, to delicate. Androgynous, that's a fitting description. A universal beauty. He looked as if he were wearing eye-liner, and just a touch of blush under his high cheekbones. Gabe couldn't take his eyes off of him, he tried to look away, but his eyes kept finding their way back to Corey.

What was happening? He analyzed his preoccupation, and came to the conclusion that he wasn't going crazy, he was just shocked by this boy's unorthodox appearance. Boy's at Lincoln High didn't look like this. They didn't look this way anywhere Gabe had been. Guys are strong, out spoken, sometimes even crass. They were supposed to be! Guy's are defined with heavy jaw lines, and wide, broad shoulders. Large hands and feet, quick movement and prominent features. This boy, this... person, he was not any of these. Where were his rough edges?

Mrs. Wayland walked into the classroom. A simultaneous hush fell across the class. She peered at them from above her cat-like eyeglasses. He could understand why some of her student foes referred to her an The Dragon Lady. Her hair, mixed of the shades Blonde, brown and grey, was always swept high up on her head. She resembled Elizabeth Taylor in her later years. She was attractive, but boy could she scream. She was in her early fifties, but took care of herself. It was obvious she tanned, and far too much, her skin was not unlike that of a crocodiles.

Mrs. Wayland walked around to the front of her desk, and leaned against it, folding her arms across her mammoth bosoms. "You've all noticed our new student, I take it," she growled. She never spoke with any emotion, she always sounded as if she were lecturing. Corey sunk into his seat embarrassed. People stared at him from every angle. A spiteful snicker found it's way into the air. Mrs. Wayland continued, "Corey Evans, from San Francisco, California, correct?" She interrogated.

Corey politely nodded his head.

Mrs. Wayland looked around the room, "Who will be generous enough to volunteer to show our new addition the ropes?" She stated. Mrs. Wayland never asked, she always stated. She never asked for anything. She told you. Corey looked around the room. Not a single hand went up. He grinned modestly and glanced back up to the teacher at the front of the room. Mrs. Wayland's face was carved from stone, her lips seemed almost puckered. Corey hated this; he hated being the center of attention. He could feel eyes all over him, invading him. He just wanted to drop his head down on the desk and fade away.

Then he heard a tiny voice from the back of the room. "I will." Rachel proffered happily as she looked around at the silent crowd. She also hated being center stage.

"Good then, Rachel. I know you'll teach him well," Mrs. Wayland said as she turned back toward her desk, grabbing her book. Corey and Rachel shared a discreet grin. She looked over to her boyfriend sitting beside her. His eyes seemed ready to fall from their sockets. She just smiled one of those girlish smiles, and class began.

When noon finally rolled around, Corey and Rachel walked through the doors into the large cafeteria. Corey glanced around; this was nothing like the Cafeteria of his previous high school. Everyone here sat at long wooden tables. The floor was carpeted. Music played quietly from the speakers hung high on the back wall. Corey listened to the tune, he knew that song... "Duke of Earl," a Golden Oldie. This entire setting struck him as curious. Preppy kids... carpeted cafeteria, music. Where were the punks standing on chairs, throwing empty milk cartons? Where were the howls of laughter? Back home, their cafeteria was always overly crowded, always segregated. The trouble makers at one table, the rich kids at another. The Special Education kids always sat in the back, and they never had music. It wouldn't have been quiet enough to hear it. The Twilight Zone theme raced through his brain. He had the insatiable notion to hum it aloud, but refrained. He knew this scenario... It was like the Stepford Children. Scary.

Corey followed Rachel to the line of students waiting for their lunch. They stood in a meticulous line. Rachel turned to Corey and whispered. "How do you like it so far?" She bubbled quietly. Corey was taken by surprise. He had stuck by her side all day, and she had barely spoken three words to him, "I.. uh, It's very nice," he replied in a cautious manner, not wanting to speak to loudly, but feeling foolish for whispering.

"So, why did you come here so close to graduation. I mean, don't you miss your friends, all the people you grew up with?" Rachel asked, taking a tray from the table in front of the buffet. "Yeah, I do... I wanted to graduate back in San Francisco, but our house sold quicker than we thought it would, so we had to leave. I begged and pleaded for my Dad to rent a hotel or something, but in San Francisco we don't graduate for another two weeks. He just though it best to settle in here as soon as possible. He said school would give me a opportunity to make friends fast. So... here I am." Corey took his own tray, and Rachel began loading it. A plate of spaghetti drenched in thick, red tomato sauce with visible chunks of meat. A slice of hot fudge cake. A tiny bowl of sliced peaches. A miniature carton of milk, and a covered container of orange juice. Corey stared at his tray in shock. He used to eagerly anticipate pizza days at his school.

After collecting all of their food, Rachel turned to the crowd of students. She stood on her toes, trying to see over the heads of the people in front of her. Corey stood behind her. "What are you doing?" He asked grinning.

Rachel bobbed her head around, "I'm looking for my table, usually Lori, Megan and Sabrina are here already. They must be late again." She sighed before explaining, "They have Mr. Zura for science, he always keeps them late."

They cut their way through the crowd, sliding between tables, and maneuvering their trays, as not to knock some feasting kid in the back of the head. They sat down opposite each other. As Corey surveyed the room, he noticed a few people staring at him, whispering to their neighbor, calling their attention to him as if he were a sideshow, or had some hideous deformity. Sure, he knew he was different, he knew he didn't look like any of them. He stuck out like a sore thumb in this place, just like he thought he would. Or, he could have a huge friend hanging out of his nose, just to be sure, he discreetly ran his finger under his nostrils.

Rachel turned, glancing in the direction Corey was, then she nonchalantly turned back to him. "It's rare when a new student comes here. Once they know you, they won't stare." She informed as she wound her spaghetti onto her fork.

"Oh," was all he could say. He glanced down at the feast before him. He couldn't eat all of this. "So what did you do in California... What were your hobbies? Did you play tennis, basketball?" Rachel probed.

Corey cleared his throat, "I was president of the Gay and Lesbian student alliance," he said, lifting his knife from the neatly folded napkin. It was so clean.

He hadn't noticed that Rachel stopped breathing. As her fork came to her pink lips, it jolted. She looked him directly in the eye. Her mind went blank. She froze. "Oh," was all she could say. She put her fork back down and wiped her mouth, though she hadn't taken a bite yet. The fog began lifting from her head, "So you... support that issue? Or...." she was like a like a child who had wandered to the deep end of the swimming pool. He couldn't be telling her that he was gay! There were no gay people in Sadie. She wouldn't insult him by presuming.

She watched the corners of Corey's mouth turn upward. "It's not really an issue, it was a club we organized events to benefit charities in the bay area. I mean, issues are political things right? Starvation, natural disasters, the National deficit, illiteracy, those are issues. I don't consider homosexuality an issue unless it's used to discriminate, like if someone is fired from a job, or refused medical treatment specifically for that reason, then it becomes an issue." Corey knew what he was talking about.

Rachel glanced around to make sure no one could hear what she was about to say, she leaned forward and whispered to him, "There are a lot of gay people in San Francisco, aren't there? I mean, those people are just like a way of life there, people have gotten used to them being... you know... around," she spoke cautiously, still unsure of the direction of their conversation.

Corey stared at her uneasily. Rachel remained half hung over the table. "Well, it's illegal to shoot them. They still haven't come up with an exterminator big enough to smoke them out," he smirked sarcastically. Then, he leaned forward, meeting her halfway. They are eye to eye now. "You know Rachel... I have it," he informed seriously.

Rachel's forehead wrinkled, "You do?" She asked, her eyes growing with dread. She stared at him intensely, numb. "W-What do you have?" She stammered.

"Faggotitis. I'm one of them," He teased with a grim face.

Rachel's expression was increasingly pained. She didn't move, she didn't blink. Her bottom lip hung a little. She didn't get it.

"I'm gay, and I'm not a pest people have to just contend with. It's not a way of life, like an occupation. It's a life, just like yours. I'm just like you, I'm a human being. Not an issue," he informed kindly, holding back laughter out of respect to her simplistic upbringing.

Rachel was still disbelieving, "No, seriously..."

Corey tossed his head back with amusement, "I am serious. Don't you know any gay people?" Rachel slowly sat back, her face flushing awkwardly. "I'm so sorry."

Corey wasn't sure if she was apologizing for her uninformed candor, or the fact he was gay. He didn't ask.

Suddenly three girls appeared at the table. Lori, Megan and Sabrina were all pretty as a picture. They were just like you'd imagine the result of human cloning to be, from the designer clothes and manicured fingernails, to their collective giggles and the fact that they were unaware of anyone else in the room. Sabrina sat next to Corey. She was mid conversation with the other two girls. Corey listened as they gossiped about Billy London's cute rear end, and how his girlfriend, Clair, didn't wear a bra to school today. They looked at Rachel and greeted her warmly. Lori kissed her on the cheek. You know the kiss, that's not really a kiss; you just hold your cheeks together and smack your lips. It must've been an exclusive thing.

"Mr. Zura wouldn't let us go until we finished our quiz. I was like, ready to puke, all I had for breakfast were two little toaster tarts. I'm famished!" Lori exclaimed as she straightened her skirt around her legs.

Megan slid her fudge cake toward Lori, "Get this thing away from me, I'll blow up like a balloon in the labor day parade," she blurted.

"You don't need to diet Meg, I'd give anything for your figure," Sabrina complimented.

This audible hell went on for a while. Corey was sure he was listening, but all he heard was "Blah blah blah, blah blah." Along with occasional eruptions of squealing laughter. They didn't acknowledge that he was just inches away.

"I started the rag yesterday, I can get out of phys ed if I tell Mr. Buchi that I have premenstrual cramps, he never knows what to say," Lori offered all to willingly.

Corey looked down at the sauce covered pasta and lost his appetite.

Sabrina reached behind her head, itching her neck furiously. "This is driving me crazy; this tag keeps tickling the back of my neck!" She complained. The other girls looked at her with compassionate stares.

"The last time I got a new sweater, I had to tape down the label, my neck was raw for three days," Megan shared generously.

"Turn around, let me push it in, it's when they stick up that they poke you. If you iron it, it should stay down," Lori said as she stood up.

Sabrina turned and the others watched closely as she stuck her hand under Sabrina's hair.

Corey looked at them confused, "Why don't you just cut it off?" He asked plainly.

Everyone stopped, their faces turning toward him as if he had just challenged their intelligence, infiltrated their barriers. "Who are you?" Megan snapped blankly.

Rachel interjected nervously, "That's Corey Evans, He's new. He just moved here from California." She answered skittishly.

Sabrina glanced at him appalled, "This is a Richard Tyler jacket. You don't JUST cut up a Richard Tyler jacket," She corrected.

"Why would you wear something that irritates you? I mean, designer clothes are great, but they're so overrated. Wouldn't you rather be comfortable?" Corey inquired, regretting he ever opened his mouth. It was obvious the remark was out of bounds. For a moment no one spoke. Then Sabrina swung around, facing him directly, "Don't they wear designer clothes in California?" Lori and Megan chuckled under their breath.

"Yeah, the models and the actors do. But the real people, the ones that count dress casual, but sophisticated. Who wants to dress up like a doll, in painful high heels, clothes that are impossible to move in, and waste money that could be spent on a weekend out rather than something you'll wear only once or twice, because by the next season it will be completely out of style, and you'll look silly," he retorted in a gentle, pleasant voice. No one knew what to say.

The girls sat there like startled guppies. "W-what do you like to wear?" Megan invited carefully. Everyone waited for him to answer.

"Well, I wear a lot of white. I love jeans. Not the baggy kind, just comfortable. I'm thin, like you guys, so I like to wear clothes that are a little more form fitting. Black is also a good color, it's always stylish, and screams class, plus it goes with anything. I have jackets and vests that go with about everything in my wardrobe. I mix and match and look decent no matter what. Some people over do it, they wear baggy clothes and layer them, one on top of the other, and end up looking more like a vagrant, and less like someone who is fashion oriented." With that Corey began to stand up. He looked at Rachel and grinned, "I'll wait for you in the hall," he added. They watched him walk away.

Corey started toward the garbage can. This was so asinine. He didn't belong here. These kids were all in their own private, isolated world. Here he was, a smart, well informed individual imposing on their domain like an unwelcome visitor. These people were happy with the way things were, they had a certain solace in their ignorance. They liked being unaware. They would panic if they knew what was really out there in the world. There are so many things that would burst their little bubbles of security. Like Mormons? What would they think of a Mormon, or a colored person? Corey hadn't seen one person of any ethnicity since he had been in Sadie. That Lori girl would have hyperventilated, had he told her that the Gucci blouse she wore was designed by a gay man. He should have asked them what they thought about the attempts organizations were making to legalize marijuana, or told them about how their favorite perfumes had come from the secretion of whale blubber. He was cruel. Who was he to bring down their walls. If they were happy he would respect it and try not to upset their maladjusted ideals. Without warning, a student slammed into him, knocking him forcefully to the ground. His tray flew into the air, crashing down in front of him. He heard the sound of cackles as he pushed himself up onto his elbow. He wanted to die. Why did these things have to happen to him? A handsome young man knelt down in front of him. "Are you all right?" Thomas Bradford asked sympathetically. Corey looked up into his deep grey eyes. He had a chiseled face, an earring in his left ear, and short brown hair.

"I'm fine, I'm such a klutz!" Corey declared, picking up his silverware from the floor.

Thomas began to help him, "It was my fault, I wasn't watching where I was walking. Are you sure you're not hurt?" he inquired in a meaningful voice.

"I'm okay," Corey reassured as he stood up. He took the plates from Thomas' strong hand, "Thank you," he added, still blushing. Of course, if someone were to knock him down in front of everyone on his first day of school, it would have to be a hunk.

"I'm Thomas," He said shyly.

"Corey Evans. It's my first day. I'm off to a great start, huh?" Corey joked, trying to make light of the circumstance. It didn't work, he was a dork, and he was sure everyone knew by now.

"You moved into the old Caudwell house. I live on Harrington too." Thomas stammered.

Corey glanced at the drawing book in Thomas's hand. He noticed that he had trouble making eye contact with him, as if he were almost afraid. "You're an artist," Corey noted, trying to ease his discomfort.

Thomas nodded indirectly, "Not a good one," he admitted. There was a silence, and then Thomas cleared his throat, "Sorry I knocked you over." He turned and walked back to his table, where he resumed his drawing.

Corey forced an exasperated smile, "Nice meeting you," he said, though Thomas was gone. He sighed heavily, looking toward the exit, and spun to leave. He was distracted by a sudden loud explosion of laughter. Looking to see what motivated the ruckus he eyed a girl sitting alone in the darkest corner of the room. Her face appeared pale and drawn. He watched as a group of boys at the table behind her threw wadded up pieces of spit drenched napkin at her, and then cheered as though they had accomplished something notable.

Corey walked through the crowd stopping directly opposite her, pulled out the chair and sat down. "Mind if I join you?" He requested in a soft, comforting tone. The girl raised her head and looked at him, then lowered in back down to her lap. "I'm Corey. I'm new here, so I don't know that many people yet. One thing I hate about moving is having to make new friends, that's one of the hardest things." He waited for her to reply, to give him any sign that he wasn't making an utter fool of himself. He shifted uncomfortable, glared at the group of boys behind her preparing another spitwad.

"What's your name?"

The girl didn't raise her head this time. When she spoke, her voice was nearly inaudible, "Angie Feldon," she replied brokenly.

Corey studied the girl. She wore a large black sweater, her hair was a bit greasy, and she appeared heavier than she really was, swaddled under several layers of clothes, as though she were hiding herself beneath them. She was attractive, her emerald eyes shining brightly from beneath her black bangs. It was like she just lost herself, lost her purpose.

Corey extended his hand across the table as another spit wad flew their direction. Angie hesitated for a few seconds, dropped her fork on her plate, exhaled swiftly, practically agitated with him, and shook his hand once sharply.

He was proud of himself. "So... is black your favorite color?" He questioned eagerly.

She shot him a curious look from below her brow, her upper lip curling just slightly. In an instant it occurred to her that this blatant display of kindness had to be a practical joke, one she was entirely too familiar with. The only difference here was her assailant didn't typically act like some hybrid of a Hallmark Card and Martha Stewart prior to the punch line. Or, was he really just this satire of himself? This skinny, flimsy boy who looked like he hadn't saw the sun since birth. She didn't answer, and she wasn't surprised when he didn't seem to care.

"Mine too. I only wear black when I'm depressed though," he said. "Which is actually quite often, I'm naturally depressed, I'm a writer, I'm supposed to be that way. They say creative people are very moody, and I hold to that theory," he babbled, and in the silent moments in between, defied the awkwardness of it. "Ever play with water balloons?"

Angie relented; she cracked a grin and peered out the window from the corner of her eye. Fine, she was amused, she would allow that much. She listened as he continued.

"I was the water balloon launching champion of my ninth grade class. I could hit a bull's-eye from forty feet away." He placed his elbows on the table and moved in toward her, his voice lowering to a quiet growl. "Are you going to eat that?" He gestured to her bowl of mashed potatoes.

She shook her head in relative disbelief, "Go for it," and she edged it toward him slightly.

"I'm really not into sports," He offered as he reached for her napkin and began to crumple it between his hands into a perfect ball. "In fact, I find them barbaric." He blew air through his mouth innocently, "So, had to compensate in other ways. That's what life is about, right? Trying to find what you can do, instead of trying to do what others believe you should. Hold out your spoon."

The direction caught her by surprise; she narrowed her eyes curiously, and then complied, for no other reason than to humor him.

He took her hand into his own, positioning it accordingly so it remained horizontal.

Angie shifted uncomfortable. "What are you doing?" Her mouth dropped as he dipped the napkin into the bowl of mash potatoes, moving it from side to side until it was saturated. "Oh my god, what are you doing?" She asked again, noticeably alarmed.

"I'm out of practice," he said quite casually as he placed the white blob onto her spoon.

"What are you going to do with that? I know what you're going to do with that. You're going to blast it into my face aren't you." Somehow, despite her suspicions, she couldn't bring herself to put down the spoon, although she knew it would be for the better. Her eyes shot around the room.

"Nope." He chirped. "Hold it now." he winked at her, as he assessed the spoon, carefully maneuvered himself, and then quickly depressed the tip and released.

The golf ball of sludge soared into the air as Angie immediately dropped the spoon onto the table, whipping around to see it collide with the face of her spit ball offender who then leapt from his seat in sheer disgust. A smile grew on her face; she let out a shocked guffaw, and turned to see Corey rising.

"Friends?" He asked.

Speechless, she nodded.

Gabe walked through front doors of the school's main entrance. Students, anxious to get home, raced past him. He looked through the crowds for Rachel, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stepped down the walkway and came to a hard stop. There he was.

Corey sat on the edge of the spouting water fountain; his leg was propped up on the short marble wall. The thin wall of mist that had risen behind him caught the sun and cast a soft rainbow backdrop, with colors so vivid it appeared more like a watercolor painting than anything the eye could manifest alone. Gabe thought more guys should be like that; A little more docile, possibly more delicate. Move with grace and elegance. Exude that rare exotic appeal that Gabe had never seen before. Corey stood up, collected his books in his arms and walked away.

Suddenly Rachel jumped into his face. "Oh my God, Gabe you will not believe the day I had!" She bellowed excitedly.

Gabe kissed her on top of the head, "I can't believe you volunteered to show that new kid around," he stated.

They began walking toward the shade of the giant oak. "That's just it, He's so sweet, and he's smart and, this is the wildest part, Gabe. He's gay- A real gay person," she blurted, grabbing his hands.

"What?"

Rachel was smiling. She was thrilled, "He told me he was gay. He joked about it at first, but he is. I never met a gay person before, and he seemed completely normal. It didn't even hit me. I should've guessed though, I mean the long hair, and as pretty as he is, he obviously cares about his appearance. I think he wears a little make-up, and his nails are long, but I think that's just to accent his eyes. The girls met him, and he gave us great fashion tips. He's not at all like the people you see on Jerry Springer. He's really interesting, you'd love him."

Gabe stopped her, "He told you he was gay, and now you want to be his best friend. I could've told you he was gay. He's really very feminine Rachel. It's obvious. Common sense."

"So, I don't care. He's really down to Earth. You shouldn't be so narrow minded and meet him," she challenged.

"That's great, I'm glad you like him." They stopped in the shadows. "Tell me something, does he have like a really deep, scratchy voice?" Gabe inquired, not appearing too obvious.

Rachel pushed out her bottom lip thoughtfully, "No, he has a soft voice. Why?" She questioned. "I just wondered." He replied, offering nothing else.

Rachel too his hand and held it against her stomach. "We better get to practice. I was thinking about telling the girls about him, but I don't know if I should, what do you think?"

"Why don't you let him tell people. It might not be something he wants everyone in school to know," Gabe said sharply.

"I thought about that, but I don't think he's still in the coffin."

"You mean in the closet, Rachel."

"Whatever."

Corey moved quietly, the warmth of the summer air pressing against his back made him feel like he was floating. He held his schoolbooks against his chest. It was hot that afternoon, but he didn't mind. He pushed up his wire framed sunglasses, the only thing shielding his eye's from the booming midday sun and glanced around the quiet suburb where he now lived. From where he stood, he could hear the chimes of the church bells announcing the Four o'clock hour. Children played in their yards. A young couple passed him, walking arm in arm, and they smiled as they passed extending a friendly hello. Sadie was so beautiful. A place that seemed preserved in time. Protected from the wild elements of the new age.

He turned off of Fremont Street onto Harrington and into the cool shade of the lush pine trees that lined both sides. This was like another world. One he never dreamed he'd be part of. He missed San Francisco. He missed his friends. He missed going out on the weekends to the popular hang-outs. But most of all, Corey missed his identity. Everyone back at his old school knew who he was. They knew what he was, and they admired him. There, he wasn't considered odd, he was just like everyone else. He was accepted by his peers, and respected by his elders. It seemed he had it all back home. There was nothing he longed for there. Well, that wasn't true. After he thought about it for a moment, he did have a strong longing, one that dwelt deep within his heart. He wanted to be loved. Of course his Father loved him, and Corey would give his life for his beloved Dad. But, there was another love, one foreign to him, one he never felt before. He thought he had it once, but it wasn't the real thing.

It was December in the Bay Area and Mr. Evans law firm had just added a new chairman. During a Christmas party on one of the vacant floors in a glass building down on Market Street, Corey's Father introduced him to the new partner, Mr. Darren Conrad, and his son, Jason. Still, when that name drifted to the surface of his mind, his heart fluttered. Jason Conrad. Smart, sexy, and troubled. Corey was fifteen, Jason had just turned sixteen. They talked all night, mostly because they were the only kids there. But as Corey listened to Jason, heard him talk about all the fights he had been in, and going to juvenile hall over thanksgiving, Corey found himself drawn to him. They were complete opposites. Corey was often shy and reserved, yet impressed everyone with his maturity. Jason said "Fuck" a lot, smoked cigarettes, had a criminal record, and remained very outspoken. Nevertheless, when he spoke, it was in a raspy, unintentionally seductive voice, and he was extremely intelligent. He knew he had a lot of "Shit," to deal with, as he would say. He had problems. Often he felt it was him against the rest of the world, and if he was going to go out, he would go out fighting.

"Fighting what?" Corey once asked him.

Jason took a heavy drag from his cigarette and then flicked the remains into the air. He always wore a T-shirt covered by a worn out, often torn, unbuttoned flannel shirt. His jeans were dirty from working on the 69' mustang his Dad had bought him to rebuild. "I'm fighting hypocrisy. Controlling governments that sits back and watches the country suffer while they lie, cheat, stab each other in the backs and fuck with our heads. All so they can stay ahead in the political rat race. They don't give a shit about us. Why would they? They're sitting up on Capitol Hill in pressed suits, working for their own issues. That's a business where your best friend will throw you off a cliff and laugh while you die, because he's next in line for your seat in congress. It's disgusting. I'm fighting a lot of things, Corey. Things that might not matter to the next guy, but it matters to me. The day you give up what you believe in, is the day you suffer a moral death. That's what matters, holding onto that one belief that means something."

Corey remembered that conversation word for word. After that night, they spent more time together, getting to know each other, sharing stories and secrets about their lives. It was well known that Jason was not gay. He had girlfriends in the past, but he wasn't seeing anyone just then. Months would pass; they would see each other every day. They went to Golden Gate Park where Jason tried to teach Corey to skateboard. Corey took him to the theater to see a "Showboat," And soon, Corey had fallen in love with him, so much so, that a moment without his voice, a day without the precious sight of his face made him desperate, and he believed Jason had felt the same way. Their burgeoning emotions were undeniable; culminating that day on the beach, when they wrestled in the sand, then came a fraction of an inch from kissing. They both froze and stared at one another, but it went no further. After that they talked on the telephone every night. Corey gave him a necklace for his birthday, a golden Lion's head with a shimmering diamond in the mouth. Jason wore it all the time. Later, as Corey got used to the idea that he and Jason would be nothing more than friends, believing that was all Jason wanted, he started dating. Early one evening Jason came over. He must've been watching them through the living room window. Corey and his then boyfriend were sitting close to each other watching a scary movie. There was a knock on the door, and when Corey opened it, there was no one there, but the necklace hung around the doorknob and Jason never spoke to him again.

That was the closest to love he had ever been, and he lost it. He often went back to that time, during quiet moments alone, or in his dreams, and he kissed Jason that day on the beach. Maybe that would have solidified things. Maybe then things could've been different. It took him a long time to get over Jason, and since then, he has not had any type of worthwhile relationship. He was still a virgin, and would be until he found the right one. The one who would respect who he was, and what he had to offer. Only then would he consider becoming sexually active.

Sex. What a crazy thing. The very notion of it terrified him. Letting someone see you naked, then touch you places that were normally secret. He would be mortified, because he was extremely modest by nature. He was sure that if he ever did have the guts to actually engage in the act, he would probably have to keep running to the bathroom, puking from nerves. Maybe he would just be a virgin forever. They say celibacy was the safest sex. He wouldn't have to worry about his body, or impressing someone. What guy would want him anyway? Here he was, one hundred and ten pounds, long hair, and an unformed face. Gay men want young body builders, with necks thicker than their arms. Corey would never be that. He was a little feminine, and he couldn't cut his hair short because he felt it made him look like a butch dyke. He didn't want to be a woman, and he hated that he wasn't more masculine, more defined, more handsome than pretty. Bottom line, what gay man wants a boyfriend who is "pretty?" But this was who he was, he was an individual, and a good person, and if that wasn't enough, then that was simply too bad. Corey walked up his sidewalk to his front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his next door neighbor watching him from beyond her kitchen curtains. She was trying to be cautious, so Corey wouldn't notice, but with the entire side of her face pressed against the glass from around the beige panel it was hard not to. He turned around, glanced across the street toward the house sitting diagonal from his own. A small, middle aged woman sat on her front porch swing, holding a cordless telephone to her ear. She watched him as if she believed he was going to commit a crime. He turned the opposite direction, several houses down was a woman was eyeing him through her upstairs window. When Corey looked at her, she let her blinds fall closed. Finally, he disregarded the scrutinizing eyes, and walked into his house. He stopped in the lavish foyer, placing his books on the desk beside the old grandfather clock, and stepped across the hardwood floor into the living room. His father sat reading the Sadie Bugle in his overstuffed, maroon recliner. Corey came up behind him and gave him a quick peck on the top of the head, then wrapped his arm around his dad's shoulders, planting himself on the arm of his chair.

His father looked up at him smiling, "How was your first day of school?" He inquired excitedly, wanting every detail. Corey and his Father didn't have the relationship most Father's had with their son's. They were closer. Timothy Evans knew his son was gay, and he accepted it. He was often overprotective of him, especially when it came to dating, or anything to do with boys who might want to either hurt his son, or take advantage of him. Mr. Evans was often strict, but never suffocating. He knew his son had a good head on his shoulders, and he was proud of him. Timothy himself was a handsome Forty year old man. He had a nicely trimmed mustache, and his eyes were dark brown, like Corey's. His hair was black, with barely a trace of grey, just enough to appear even more distinguished. He had a look of nobility to him. Always the professional. Even on this day, he was still in his white shirt and tie.

"School was okay. It's strange though, the difference in cultures. They play music at lunchtime. I mean, I expected a drastic change, but this is ridiculous," Corey stated dramatically as he got off of the arm of the chair and walked over to the huge bay window.

His Father put his newspaper aside and kicked in the foot rest, "I never said this would be easy, Corey. We're two thousand miles away from California. Thing change. People here are more conservative."

"They were all staring at me. The neighbors, I mean. They must think I'm some sort of freak," Corey concluded.

"They stare at me too. Just give it some time, It'll get better, they're just curious, that's all. I'm sure they mean no harm."

Corey stepped away from the window, he looked at his dad, tears welling in his eyes, they shined. "I wish Mom was here."

His Father took a deep breath and stood up from his recliner. He walked over, stopping in front of his Son. He took his face into his powerful hands and forced his eyes upward. "I wish she was too, but we can't bring her back. She'd want us to live a good life." Mr. Evan's voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

A tear ran down Corey's cheek, pooling under his chin as he turned back toward the window. Harrington street sprawled open before him like an unfamiliar planet, and he was afraid, like a child far away from home, he wondered what waited for him out there.

three

The Calling

Corey sat in front of his computer. On the wall above him were several golden plaques emblazoned on wood finish. He stared at them, recalling the day he found out his first poem had been published. It was included in a book of poetry by the editors of some fancy magazine. His Mother was so proud of him. Together, they cried tears of joy. She knew he loved to write. It was his talent, his gift. He would let her read every piece before he sent it anywhere for consideration, and she was honored he did so. Now he had his own book of poems published, and was acclaimed nationwide as a literary genius. Corey didn't think he was a genius. He just had so much inside, and it always made so much more sense in verse, than in voice. It was his therapy. His way of dealing with the screaming world around him. His poems took him to a quiet sleep. The last one he had written was the night his mother died. It was right after his father had told him, but before he could cry.

He had hated his Mother for leaving him. He cursed her, he screamed and cried. "How could you do this? How could you leave me behind? I didn't even get to say good-bye." He couldn't even remember the last thing his Mother said to him. What was she wearing? He needed to remember, he had to. That was all he had left of her. Now, it was even hard for him to recapture the sweet sound of her gentle tone. Though he didn't know it, it was a lot like his own voice. He wondered if she was with him, if her spirit remained, though her physical body was no longer. That's what the psychic's on afternoon television claim. He wondered if she could hear him. See him. Touch him.

Corey pushed a strand of his hair away from his face. "Mom?" he began quietly.

The bedroom was completely still. He waited for something... anything. A light to flicker, the wind to race through the open window. Nothing happened. "I'm not sure if you're there or not. Maybe I'm talking to myself, but if you can hear me, I just... I need to know...," He couldn't finish his sentence, the pain overwhelmed him. His insides were on fire. He put his hands over his face and cried.

Gabe watched him through the telescope. Sympathetic, he glanced downward for a moment, a lump in his throat. He sat back in his chair and glanced over at the telephone. He couldn't call Corey. Not now. It would be awkward. He had never spoken to a gay person before. What if Corey thought he was flirting with him? Or, even worse, what if Corey began flirting with him? He wouldn't say who he was; he would just say he was a friend. What if Corey thought it was a prank call? He had to do something.

He scanned his messy bedroom and then picked up a sock from the floor. He lifted the telephone receiver from its base and slid the sock over the end. He blocked the call from appearing on a caller identification device, shut off all of his lights, rushed back to the open window, and crouched down in front of it. He dialed the number, and for a flash of a second was surprised he had committed it to memory and then listened with great anticipation as it began to ring.

"Please don't let the Dad pick up, please don't let the Dad pick up." he chanted quietly.

Then... an answer.

"Hello?" The soft, sad voice said. Gabe didn't reply right away. He was taken with this voice. It was so weak, so fragile.

Gabe stammered, "Hi... Corey?" He asked.

"Yes," the soft voice answered.

"I thought I would just call, and... and say hi."

Corey wiped the tears from his face. "Who is this?"

Gabe froze. His thoughts became scattered, "You don't really know me, I just- We go to school together." The line fell silent, and Gabe spoke quickly, afraid to let it linger too long. "You sound so.. so sad. Like you're crying,"

Corey sniffled once loudly, brushing off the suggestion, "I... I'm just... tired."

Gabe leaned against the wall, listening to his broken breath, "Do you always cry when you're tired?"

Corey squinted his eyes, "No... I just... What's was your name?"

"My name? My name. Christopher... but, call me Chris," Gabe lied. What was he doing? That was his brother's name! Damn. It was okay though, he didn't know the last name, so it didn't matter.

"Why did you have to think about it?" Corey surveyed suspiciously.

Gabe bit the inside of his cheek, "I- I didn't. I was just debating whether to tell you Chris, or Christopher. My parents call me Christopher, but my friends call me Chris, so I didn't know what you preferred," he retorted with discreet guilt.

Corey inhaled heavily, "Well... thank you for calling Chris-topher..," He switched ears, preparing to hang up.

Gabe jolted, "Wait, Don't go! He yelled, then quieted, "I mean, don't hang up... Please."

An incredulous expression grew on Corey's face. "Pardon me?"

"I mean... because I want to talk to you." Gabe held his breath.

Another moment of silence.

"How do I know you're not lying to me? How do I know you're not sitting there in your bedroom with all of your friends around trying to make a joke," Corey asked firmly.

"I'm not, I swear. Besides, I don't even know you. Why would I want to make a joke?" Gabe spat instantly. He was so clever. "Some people are just sick like that. I don't know you either, so I don't know what you're mentality is. You're a stranger, I should probably do the smart thing and hang up the phone and wait for you to introduce yourself to me at school first. On the phone you could be anyone doing anything, and I'm not very trusting," Corey announced.

"Okay, I understand. I'm sorry I bothered you," Gabe apologized, his voice fading. Immediately, Corey regretted being so cold. Someone had called to be kind, and here he was accusing him of having cruel intentions. "Wait," Corey said softly.

Gabe stopped. It seemed as if time had stopped along with him.

Corey sniffled quietly. Gabe watched over the windowsill as Corey stood up, holding the phone with his shoulder, twisting the cord around his pointer finger. "I'm sorry. I've just had a really long day, and it's catching up with me," he confessed as he sat down on his bed.

"Things will get easier, give it awhile, you'll get used to Sadie." Gabe contented.

"Why does everyone keep saying that? It will get better. Give it some time. I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, Chris but this place... I don't belong here," he admitted openly.

Gabe grinned, "No one belongs, Corey. They just adapt, try to make things work as best they can. It's you who decides if things will work or not."

Corey listened with great interest. He knew he was right. If he wanted to be miserable, he would be. Nothing outside of himself stopped him from being happy. "Sounds logical; I guess I never thought of it that way.

Gabe smiled, "That was pretty good, huh?" He surprised himself.

They laughed together, and it wasn't long before they each fell into a casual comfort. Time slipped away, vanishing well into the night, and both still maintained the line. When the three and a half hour conversation finally concluded, Corey felt strangely better about his direction, and Gabe was now more taken with this delightful young man, who now knew him only as Chris.

After hanging up, Gabe laid in bed. He was going to hell. He had lied to that tender being. What would he do now? He couldn't tell Corey the truth, he would hate him for lying to him. And, he did lie, from the very start he lied like a rug. How does he get himself into these things? How could he have been so worried about talking to Corey, whose raspy voice still rang through his thoughts like a gentle breeze. He couldn't introduce himself at school tomorrow, he was ashamed. Corey would think he was making a joke out of him, and Gabe didn't think he could stand having him hate him. There was still so much he had to know about him, so many things he wanted to ask. He wanted to dream his dreams, and see how this life, which seemed so old and ordinary to Gabe, looked through Corey's eyes. He drifted to sleep, still in his clothes from the day before, his mouth pulled into a subtle grin.

"Do you know anyone named Chris, who goes to this school I mean?" Corey asked. He and Angie sat at the table in the corner of the cafeteria.

Angie looked at him peculiarly. "There are probably about ten Chris' that I can think of right off hand. Be a little more specific."

Corey shifted in his seat, "I... I can't," he replied feeling a twinge of embarrassment. The curiosity had overwhelmed him. He had to know who Chris was. He was tired of waiting for him to come forth. He had waited for days now. He glanced at the faces of every guy that passed him. "Who's Chris, anyway?" Angie pried, stuffing a bite of ice cream into her face.

Corey looked away coyly, a smitten grin on his face, "It's this guy who calls me at night. He said he knew me from school, and he hasn't introduced himself yet, in person, so I just wondered who he was," he explained.

"Well, what's his last name?" Angie interrogated.

"I don't know, I never thought to ask."

"Okaaaay... what class did he say he knew you from?" she pressed.

"He never said." Corey quipped.

Angie shot him a narrow glare. Her concern was obvious, her reaction delayed.

"What?!" Corey barked, despising her silence.

"That's a little odd, don't you think? A guy calls you up in the middle of the night. He doesn't tell you his full name, doesn't approach you at all during the day, though he claims to go to this school. What am I missing?" Angie stated, scouting the dark possibilities in her head.

"It's not like that," Corey assured, "Our conversations are just about, life, our hopes and dreams. We just get all caught up in everything. We have real conversations Angie. We talk about so much that tiny details slip by. It's nothing malicious, I'm sure."

"Corey... You can't be like this. Everyone isn't good, there are very wicked minds out there, and in here. I know, trust me, I know. I've been shit on every day for the past twelve years by most of these guys... and girls. they might be nice to you when they're alone. They might smile, or say hi, but when they're here with all of their friends, nestled into their cliques, it could be devastating if they were seen talking to an outsider. I'm sure this Chris guy is just great over the phone, but he hasn't made any effort to make himself known. Maybe he doesn't want to. Maybe he can't." Corey's muscles stiffened, "He's not like that, I know. You don't hear his voice, so genuine, and heartfelt. I sit by the telephone every night and wait to hear him. He makes all this... This mess that my life has become over the last year make sense. He cares about me. He's my friend. If he wasn't, why would he have called me every night for the last three nights?" Corey pointed out, making his case seem valid enough.

"Does he know you're gay?" Angie replied still not convinced.

"No. No, he doesn't. No one does, except for you, and that Rachel Porter girl."

"Oh, well then, you might as well have printed it in the Bugle. Took out a full page ad! If she knows, she's told everyone on her cheerleading squad, and her quarterback boyfriend, who's probably already created about a million queer jokes to entertain his locker room buddies. Chris knows, trust me," Angie concluded.

"He hasn't said anything, maybe it doesn't matter to him. I mean, granted, there are a lot of addle minded dolts in Sadie, but Chris is not one of them. He's smart, and funny, and he listens to every word I say. I could say anything to him, and I wouldn't sound neurotic, which I am. I am neurotic." Corey admitted.

Angie pushed her tray aside, "Then... Maybe he likes you," She suggested bluntly.

Corey slid his silver, crescent moon pendant along it's chain, "No, He goes to this school, he's seen me. He undoubtedly thinks I'm gross. If he did like me, I'd be forced to have serious reservations about his mental status."

"Maybe he's curious," Angie forced.

"That would figure, wouldn't it? I meet this wonderful guy who sweeps me off my feet, and he's curious. Or deranged. Or a pervert. Or never tells me how he feels because he's scared. Or he's straight. Or he just wants to be friends... Story of my life. I should carve "Loser" into my forehead, so everyone knows that I'm a failure when it comes to love. Destined to be a spinster. Eighty years old, living with a hundred cats that all talk to me and always guess the answers on Jeopardy before I do. I'm pathetic," Corey glumly let his head fall to the table.

"Don't tell me you're going to slip into a dark depression. One looney toon per school is enough. I've already claimed that title."

With that, Lori, Sabrina, and Megan strutted up to the end on the table from across the room. Angie turned and looked at them like she was having a hallucination. These preps weren't really standing at the helm of her table. She must be dreaming. There must've been something in her steak. Arsenic, maybe some Narcinol. The cooks had decided to kill her. That's right, kick off the fat girl.

Lori leaned forward and politely cleared her throat, "Um, Corey?" She summoned quietly. Corey lifted his head from the surface of the table. There stood Moe, Larry and Curly. All of them dressed in faded denim jeans, wrinkled, short sleeved T-shirts boasting pockets over their left breasts. He tried to refrain from laughing. "I-Is this what is casual in California?" She asked inquisitively. Lori's shirt was solid red, Sabrina's was bright blue, and Megan's was Purple.

His eyebrows almost disappeared under his hairline. Angie looked at him, stifling a giggle. "It's an improvement. You definitely look more... comfortable," Corey assessed, standing up from his seat, looking them over.

Megan stepped forward, "We tried to be as casual as possible. We shopped for almost three hours at the mall. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to be plain," She imparted quite distressed.

"Well, maybe you tried TO hard. You want to be casual, not plain," he explained, glancing back to Angie. "Stand up Angie," he instructed.

Angie looked at him panicked. Then, she cautiously rose from her chair.

Corey continued, "Look at Angie, she wears simple black, which is the epitome of elegance, or casual. It's in-between, I guess. Exudes class, demands notice, while still making a modest statement. Her black turtle neck brings out her hair and eyes. The buttoned vest says, 'Look at me, but don't stare.' Her skirt is long, but not full, it accents her long legs. Overall, her outfit maintains the art of good fashion sense, while relaying a message. You don't need to wear loud and demanding clothes to be beautiful. You should really take tips from her." Corey appraised generously.

The Three Stooges just stared at him dumbfounded. Then, Lori jumped at him, hugging him tightly. "Thanks Corey!"

They all collected around Angie. Corey pushed a strand of hair from his eye and walked away, pleasantly satisfied.

He liked sitting there, near the water fountain. The cool spray from the water refreshed him. He perched himself on the stone edge of the wall, glancing into the water at his garbled reflection. Suddenly, someone grabbed his shoulder abruptly. Startled, he turned and saw Thomas.

"Didn't mean to scare you." He leaned against the wall beside Corey.

"That's okay. I scare pretty easily anymore," Corey excused in a friendly tone, "You're Thomas, right? You knocked me over."

Thomas stared downward. He laughed quietly. "Yeah. I was wondering... if I could ask you a question." His mood quickly shifted, he became distance, staring hard at the flaws in the pavement. He trembled.

"Sure." Corey replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Thomas folded his hands, toying with them nervously, "I was watching you today. I know you'll probably won't, but I wondered if maybe... I shouldn't even be asking." He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortable. "I changed my mind. Sorry. Never mind." RETREAT! Thomas thought as he quickly moved away.

"What?" Corey asked. "You can ask? You don't have to be afraid of me."

Thomas turned back, "I'm not afraid," he lied as he came back to his side.

"Well then, ask me." Corey pressed. He hated when people did this to him. That's why he never watched television. He hated cliffhangers.

Thomas stared into his eyes, invigorated by his tenderness. He spoke, without even realizing it. "Can I draw you?"

Corey met him with a bewildered glance, "Me?"

"You don't have to. It was an idea. I wouldn't normally bother you, but I... you have a unique look. Never seen it before." Thomas said, feeling rather stupid. He knew better than to approach him like this.

Corey was stunned. What should he say? This was obviously a flirt. Well, maybe it wasn't. It would be egotistical of Corey to think this handsome guy would find him attractive. After all, if Thomas was gay, he could have any guy in the school. Any man would be flattered to have his interest.

Gabe watched from the shade of the great oak tree. Why was Thomas, of all people, talking to Corey? The notion was preposterous. They had nothing in common. Corey was quiet and delightful, and Thomas was just, well, Thomas was a nothing. No one knew much about Thomas. Not about his personal life. Gabe knew his Father was a Dentist in town, but that was all. Thomas had lived on Harrington as long as Gabe had, and yet he remained distanced from the rest of the neighborhood kids while growing up.

Rachel waltzed up to him, and stopped at his side. She saw he hadn't yet noticed her. He seemed distracted. She looked in the direction he gawked. "Oh, That's Corey, come on Gabe, I'll introduce you! She announced, awakening Gabe from his state. She took his hand and started pulling him across the lawn.

Gabe jerked out of her grasp. Rachel turned, taken aback by his act. "No!" Gabe refused harshly. Rachel was astounded by his cold tone. For a moment she was unable to move. He had never spoken to her like that. "He's not a monster. He's not going to bite you, Gabe. He's not like you think gay people are, he won't offend you," she explained.

"I said no, Rachel. I meant it." He snapped agitated. Then he started to walk away from her. He looked over toward the fountain and watched as Corey stood up. He and Thomas were leaving together.

Rachel followed Gabe, "What did I do? Why are you mad?" She nagged. Gabe didn't stop, he kept walking. Where were Corey and Thomas going together? Thomas didn't even deserve to know someone like Corey.

"Stop Gabe, talk to me. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me so I can fix it. How can I say I'm sorry if I don't even know what I did? Is it Corey? I know you have strict religious beliefs, but I didn't mean to throw this at you. I didn't know how you felt, I'm sorry." Rachel pleaded as she reached for him.

Gabe stopped hard, pulling away from her one final time as he spun furiously to face her, "Stop it, Rachel. Stop apologizing. Stop begging for forgiveness. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just sick of hearing you whine every time I walk away and don't say 'I love you,' I'm sick and tired of you making me feel like I've done something wrong. You don't have to break down when I don't answer right away, or think you've committed some crime if I don't call you every hour of the day. Jesus, I'm not your damn Babysitter, Rachel. You need to get off of this and give me some room. You're suffocating me. I can't breathe. We're not kids anymore, we're adults. Stop being so childish!" He flared, uncaring, unremorseful, and he ran away.

Rachel stood shattered in a million small pieces, her stomach tightened, quivered like she would be sick. She all at once felt confused and frightened. What was happening? Everyone around her watched her cry.

She was lost.

Thomas' bedroom was enormous. Huge glass door lead out onto an open balcony overlooking the endless back yard. The posters of detailed drawings that hung on the walls depicted scenes from everyday life. A woman cradling a newborn baby. An old man on a park bench. Corey's feet sunk into the lavish white carpet, which he imagined a cloud must feel like. He pressed his sock deeper into it.

Thomas stood at his stereo system, tuning it to an Oldies station.

"These are beautiful," Corey complimented, looking at the drawings closely. For a second, Thomas didn't answer. He hoisted himself up on the edge of the bed and watched his guest. "Why are you the way you are?" Thomas asked curiously.

Corey turned to him, startled by his odd remark, "What do you mean, 'How I am?'"

"Thomas ran his hand through his thick blond hair. "You'll have to forgive me. It's a question I've always wanted ask someone who looked... attractive. Sometimes it seems that they don't even know it." Thomas looked up to Corey and saw his dumbfounded expression. "I'm sorry if I offended you, I didn't mean to overstep my bounds." He quickly added, trying to redeem himself. Corey was still expressionless; no one had ever said anything like that to him. "No, you... you didn't offend me. I'm embarrassed, but not offended. You really see me that way?" Corey questioned again, wanting to make sure he didn't misunderstand the meaning of the compliment.

Thomas' cheeks flushed. He was never good at this kind of thing. "I think you're a nice person... I have this intuition; it helps me know who's good and who's not. You're good," he half smiled and looked into his lap, afraid of discriminating eyes.

Corey grinned, "How do you know your intuition isn't wrong?"

Thomas didn't laugh, he picked at his fingers, shaking. "You make me smile."

A quiet moment found them. Corey leaned hovered in the archway of the balcony studying him. Thomas continued, "I saw you sitting with Angie Feldon in the cafeteria the other day. You were nice to her. No is ever nice to her." He leapt from the bed, quick to switch subjects, "If you look at my sketches, you'll see that I try to capture the beautiful things in life. Nothing extravagant... just to often not seen. Overlooked. I think that sitting on a park bench, alone with your thoughts, that's beautiful. A person walking down a quiet lane on a foggy evening, just before the sun sets. Children playing in the school yard, they haven't a care in the world. Things we never notice. It's beautiful to me," he bit the edge of his bottom lip softly, "But, I saw you, and I just thought that you were special. Unaware of your own..... magic. Things like that, they make me smile."

"What a wonderful thing to say."

Thomas simply nodded his head, "Not a lot of things make me do that anymore, but there was... Um-" He paused, trying to gain his composure, "something about you.." he finished.

"Have you had your eyes checked recently?" Corey solicited seriously.

Thomas laughed quietly, "I have very good eyes."

Corey folded his arms over his narrow chest. It was as if he had been struck by lightning. Sparks raced up his spine. "Thank you," was all he could muster. He found Thomas very attractive and was flattered that he said these things. He never considered himself as anything much. Just an average teenager. Since being here confidence had plummeted. He was grateful that Thomas had made him feel worthwhile. It had seemed so long since he felt that way.

Corey slowly approached Thomas, whose eyes were fixed in any direction but Corey's. "I like you too," he whispered, offering a warm smile.

Thomas felt relieved. He looked up into Corey's brown flecked eyes and could see his own reflection. His face was so full of fairness. His puffy lips, soft and ripe.

"So, are we going to draw or what?" Corey issued.

Thomas jerked out of his obvious preoccupation. He leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled out a huge sketching canvas, and a wooden box of utensils.

Corey walked to the balcony doors, staring across the vast yard, "Maybe I should tell you before we do this... just so you don't get any surprises later on," Corey announced, turning to Thomas who was setting up his work place, "I'm gay, Thomas."

Thomas' movements slowed. It didn't seemed as if here were shocked, just surprised by Corey's candid revelation. He didn't look up; he simply continued placing his charcoal instruments in order, "So am I." He retorted blankly, as if he had only just given the time of day. Thomas was taken by his own frankness. He had never said it aloud before. He never said anything even suggesting it.

Corey seemed to light up. He raced to the edge of the bed grinning. Finally, someone he could relate to. There was hope after all, "Thank God. I was beginning to feel like a liberal at a Southern Baptist convention! Tell me, how many people at our school are really on the lavender team?" He drilled anxiously.

Thomas found himself unable to get situated. His nerves were screaming. "I-I wouldn't know... I don't really talk to a lot of people at school."

Corey pushed on the mattress sending a disruptive wave toward Thomas, "Come on! You talked to me. You must know someone. Haven't you ever had a boyfriend?" Corey persisted in angst.

Thomas was amused by his attitude, "No... No, I've never had a boyfriend. No one knows I'm gay, so I wouldn't know of anyone else who is. It's not that simple around here, if there are any gays at Lincoln, they're probably sitting in the back of the closet, like me," He retorted, feeling a bit more comfortable.

Corey's face had dropped, "Oh," he said disappointedly, "I didn't know. It's still so easy for me to forget where I am."

Thomas watched as Corey withdrew from the bedside and walked over to a lounge chair in the corner, he seemed swayed by his new knowledge.

"If you could be a flower, what kind would you be?" He quizzed, purposely redirecting the conversation.

Corey looked at him baffled, "What kind of question is that?"

Thomas saw his friend's puzzlement, "I'm serious, it's a philosophical question, it says a lot about someone's personality."

Corey laughed out loud. "A weed! I'd be a weed! Just a weed, not even marijuana. A weed no one would pay for." He deduced.

"I'm serious," Thomas said as he opened his pad to a blank page.

"I am serious." Corey asserted convincingly.

"I don't see you as a weed. Pick something a little more... delicate."

Corey contemplated his options for a brief second, "I don't know. Not a rose, that's so typical. Everyone I know would say that. Roses are so self-important and formal. I'm neither of those. I'd probably be something more invisible. Something nice, but usually unnoticed, like a daisy. A white Daisy." He paused in speculation. "Is there such a thing?"

"I'm not sure. Good answer though. I can see you as a Daisy," Thomas said, staring at him, as if picturing it. He really wasn't, he was discreetly admiring him. His uniqueness. The way he stood out from everything around him.

"What would you be?" Corey tossed back.

Thomas gave a muffled laugh, leaning back. His shirt lifted above his hardened stomach. Corey could see modest muscles that flexed in his arms and legs as he pulled forward. "I'd be the weed... wild and free."

Corey giggled, "You're not a weed! You're a... You'd be a sunflower. Yeah! A sunflower. Those are wild, but they're also very attractive." Corey gulped. Once again, a flood of free thought had had made an otherwise pleasant situation awkward. He was good at that. It sounded like he had just made a blatant pass. He quickly recovered, "I didn't mean it like it sounded. Not that you're not attractive, but I didn't mean to sound like I was saying you were attractive..." He blinked twice and cocked his head. The vacant look was the only alternative to running away crying. He was an idiot.

Thomas raised his eyes, smirking and shaking his head, "I got it. You don't have to redeem yourself." It was too bad. A guy like Corey would never want anything to do with him, not in a romantic manner anyway.

Thomas pointed his finger at Corey teasingly, "You're very funny, you know that?"

Corey threw back his head mockingly, "I try," he breathed. Then he sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, his head tilted on one hand, straightening his collar with the other, "Why don't you talk to many people at school... I mean you said that you didn't really have anything to do with them. Why not? Are they mean to you?"

Thomas squinted his eyes tightly, stunned by the remark, "No. No, they're not mean to me. It's not that I avoid them or anything. I just prefer to be a loner. I like the solitude. I used to take part in the whole popularity game. Dated the pretty girls, played basketball, ran track. Then one day I just decided it was all to fake, so I took myself out of it. I'm still cool with a lot of them, I just don't go partying with them, or campaign for attention like I used to," he clarified astutely. "I'm a rebel with a cause."

Corey examined him carefully, "Oh... so you used to be... one of them." He endeared gravely.

Thomas moaned, "Yeah... I did. Hope I didn't scare you or anything. Remember, I'm not like that anymore. I got away, I escaped..."

"Escape. What a lovely word," Corey said quietly, as though no one else could hear. He threw back his hair and fell against the high cushion of the armrest. He toyed with the chain around his neck, "No such thing."

Thomas was engrossed by his overpowering presence. "Don't move." Thomas directed, scrambling for his Number 9 pencil.

Corey froze, growing tense, "Please don't say there's a bug on me," he pleaded with instant anxiety.

Thomas grabbed his easel, "This is perfect," he stated as he placed himself in front of Corey. "You're going to draw me like this? Shouldn't I pose or something?" Corey offered hesitantly. "This isn't a photograph, Corey. I don't draw portraits, I draw things from life. Thing so real they could jump off the paper and grab you. I only draw natural images that are so striking, that they deserve to be immortalized on paper," He expressed affectionately.

"Are you saying I'm striking?" Corey asked playfully.

Thomas stopped mid motion. He looked down at Corey who remained in his position, "Yeah. I guess I am."

Corey laughed heartily, not taking him seriously, "Then you DO need your eyes checked!"

Thomas politely grinned and realized that Corey had not grasped his sincerity. That was okay. Thomas figured it would undoubtedly save him multitudes of humiliation. He began to laugh with Corey, "Shut up," he moaned in false torment. He dare not allow Corey to see his infatuation, so he let it go and simply enjoyed having him there.

Once finished, Thomas stood back from his creation and judged it. He was happy with the outcome. It caught every aspect of Corey. Everything he found so enchanting, "Okay, I'm done," was all he said.

Corey sat up slowly, holding his neck that had developed a crick, "Let me see."

Thomas gave him an odd glance, "What do you mean. You can't see it."

Corey stood disenchanted. "Stop! I want to see it. I've been waiting all this time, the least you could do is show it to me!" He argued in his own defense.

Thomas was entertained by his desire, "I can't. I never show anyone my work. It's like setting myself up for criticism. I'd be compromising my ethics."

Corey lunged at him teasingly, but Thomas, who was smiling uncontrollably, darted away. "I'm going to see that drawing!" Corey warned, his own amusement obvious.

"Oh You are, huh?" Thomas asked in a sportive tone.

Corey nodded, unable to contain his enjoyment. Without warning, Thomas leapt past him, hurdling the bed. As he raced to the door, Corey chased him. They tore down the hall and scaled the staircase. Thomas grasped the handle of the front door with Corey right behind him. He swung it open and halted as he found himself standing in the tall shadow of his Father. Glenn Bradford.

Corey stood behind Thomas, and the fun was quickly derailed by the threatening man. His face was carved from brimstone. His eye's barreled through them like a herd of arrows.

"Hi Dad," Thomas said unshaken.

His Father stepped in pushing Thomas back. He walked past them, making his way behind the two teenagers. Corey watched him nervously. He was like an executioner, only without the black hood. He always wondered what they looked like underneath. This was it. He was husky, and very tall. He had an intimidating demeanor.

"Who the hell is this?" The Man bellowed.

Thomas stepped in front of Corey, as if he expected his Father to hit him, "This is a friend from school, Dad. We were studying, he was just leaving."

Corey swore he heard Mr. Bradford growl. He felt incriminated, like he had committed a horrible trespass simply by being there.

"Since when do you study? You don't study! You're a liar, Thomas, you're a God Damn liar. If I smell cigarettes in this house, even if I think I smell cigarettes, I'm going to hurt you, understand?" The man yelled accusingly.

Thomas didn't back down, "All right, Dad. I gotcha." He remained calm and collected, while Corey was ready to wet himself.

He finally exhaled when Mr. Bradford stormed off into the living room. Corey moved to the door hurriedly as he apologized, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

"It's okay. This is how he is all the time, Don't worry about it. You want to get together again... I really-" Thomas gathered his strength "I had fun."

Corey patted his shoulder, "Me too. Thank you... for everything. I bet we'll be great friends." he said before smiling and turning away. He started down the walk turning once to wave.

Thomas watched him. Friend? Apparently, he had not made the correct impression on Corey. He was so bad at that. He didn't know how to get his point across when it came to insinuating a romantic interest. What were the proper guidelines? Was there some written code that would help him make his attraction known? What was the average time frame allowed before kissing someone? He wanted to kiss Corey. He wanted to hold his hand and breathe him in. Whisper sweet nothings in his ear. He wanted Corey to feel the same way, but Thomas knew he never would. They were opposites. Corey was sweet and honest. He knew who he was and he was proud of it. Thomas was not like that. He was shy and had yet to overcome his dread about coming out. He wanted to. That was the only burden he had yet to shed before living in complete freedom. Well, that and his Father. He still hadn't shed him either.

Corey felt like he could dance all the way home. He always did this to himself. Developed an interest in someone who could care less. It would be Jason all over again. Thomas and Corey would be great friends, and Corey would fall hopelessly in love with him. Thomas would undoubtedly reject him and feed him that familiar old line, "Can't we just be friends?" Yep! That would be his luck. Corey had survived the Jason incident, and even Jason lingered in the back of his mind like a ghost, haunting him. Corey didn't want to go through that again. He knew those rebellious types all to well. He couldn't fall in love with someone who didn't want him. It was becoming a vicious pattern with him. Meet a great guy, become emotionally obsessed, and then realize they would rather kiss a cat's ass, than kiss him. He always misread hints. If he thought they liked him, most likely, they didn't.

He continued on the short walk home, his cheeks ached from smiling, and he felt delightfully stupid, giddy even, and if you looked closely enough, you could see the wings on his feet.

four

Life Lessons

Gabe pulled his Black BMW into the driveway. He turned off his engine, and jumped out. He had to see Corey. He raced into the house, slamming the door behind him, making a mad bolt for the staircase, when his Father called to him. Begrudgingly, he stopped, walking backwards to the archway leading into the living room.

His Father was standing alongside his Mother, and across from them, rising from the other sofa was Mayor Layton and his young wife. Mr. Cavanaugh approached Gabe proudly, "Here's our champ! Gabe, you know Mayor Layton and his lovely wife, Sandra," Martin introduced, leading his son toward them by the shoulder.

Gabe reached out, and the Mayor shook his hand vigorously. "We met at the town picnic a few months ago. I was just telling your Father how excited we were to have one of our own heading off to such a promising future." Gabe hated this. It sickened him to have people floundering over him, exalting him, worshiping him, and expecting him to be picture perfect in every manner of the word.

They all sat down again. Gabe sat next to his Father, who seemed all to delighted to be showing off his golden son, and to the Mayor no less. His Father scooted near the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees, "Gabe here, he's going to make us all proud. Ever since he was a tiny boy, he succeeded at every little thing he did."

Gabe felt his stomach turn. Sure, he was glad to have made his family proud, isn't that what people strive for? But what Gabe had done was for him. He excelled at Football because he had passion for the game. It was what he needed to do. It fulfilled his athletic hunger. He didn't want to have people expecting great feats from him. What if he failed and let everyone down? He would be cursed for the rest of his life, known as a big disappointment. That was a lot for him to carry. He didn't mind doing this for himself, going out there and making an effort, just to see if he really could, but he didn't want all of Sadie watching.

Gabe noticed that the Mayor was staring at him, smiling condescendingly. He straightened his posture, and wiped his finger along his wiry mustache. "We keep every newspaper article printed about you in the town log. We plan on documenting your rise to the top. You could do a lot for Sadie, Gabriel. You could be a role model for our young, strapping athletes. You could help support the morals and ethics we try to preserve in this town. I know you're a God fearing man, and, Lord knows, too many of our youth have wandered off the straight and narrow. Then they look at you, honor student, firm, Godly foundation, an academic scholarship to a prestigious school, and to top it all off, well dug roots, right here on Harrington. They see that being a good citizen, and having great trust in the Lord and a lot of discipline can earn great rewards, just like it did for you."

Martin Cavanaugh patted Gabe on the knee, "He's at church every Sunday, front pew."

The Mayor stood up, rubbing his stubby fingers across his protruding belly that hung over the waist of his slacks. Everyone rose to their feet along with him. "We wanted to let you know that the whole county is behind you, son. We're all rooting for you."

Mr. Cavanaugh jumped forward and shook the Mayors hand, and they all escorted him to the front door. "You keep watching Mayor. My boy's going to be a star," Martin gloated as the Mayor walked off the front porch onto the sidewalk. Mayor Layton turned, throwing up his arm in a half wave, "See you at your graduation party!" He called, making his way to his car parked along the curb.

Mr. Cavanaugh shut the door. He turned and held his arms open, leaning back, releasing a loud bellow. He hugged his son tightly, squeezing him in a glorified bear hug. Mary chuckled as she held onto Gabe's arm. Martin released his son, holding up his arms and eyes to the ceiling, "Thank you Jesus! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He celebrated.

Mary ran into the living room, then rushed back holding the sports section of the Bugle, "Look, It's you, Gabe. They did another story on you. Front page of the Sport's section!" She squealed in thrilled voice. Gabe took the paper. His senior photo had been blown up, and placed at the center of a huge cover story. The headline read, "Lincoln High Graduate, Gabriel Cavanaugh, meets the big time!" The bold, black letters jumped out at him. He read the byline, "Scholarship winner heads to Harvard." His Father was now dancing around him, like an Indian around a fire.

Gabe stood like a statue, staring beyond the faces of his parents, past the walls of the house, searching, desperately, for a place to hide.

Corey laid in his bed. It seems as if the days were so short. Like the sun hit an invisible ceiling, then bounced back down. His arm was tucked behind his head, and the other rested across his sunken stomach. He was thinking about Thomas. Witnessing his smile, again, and again through pictures in his mind. They way Thomas would look at him, so boldly. Probably just a friendly gesture, yet still, it piqued his curiosity. Thomas seemed so coy, but there was something about him that invigorated Corey. Maybe it was because he had been swept by Thomas' compliments and that gave him the renewed confidence he'd needed to function in this place. He knew he hadn't known Thomas for but a day, but he liked him. He made him feel comfortable.

Oh No! It had already begun. He had a crush on Thomas. He couldn't do this. It was crazy. Thomas had given him no green light. Corey was thinking about a guy who was probably beyond being interested in him that it was ridiculous. Besides, all was not lost. There was still Chris. Chris had expressed an interest, and honestly, Corey was a little taken by him as well. How come, the second a cute guy was friendly to him, he began searching for hints? Any sign of a flirt? It was all Cupid's fault. That wretched little monster who enjoyed toying with him. Was this punishment? Denied love. Searching, yet never finding it. It was like Cupid knew he was looking and purposely eluded him. "Uh oh, that pathetic, desperate, gay kid is looking for me again. Better run!" Corey had started to hate love. Hate the very idea of it. It was evil. It made him feel like crap. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what lengths he went to, it laughed at him. "Ha Ha. You're still alone." All of his friends back home, both gay and straight had someone. Someone to buy a gift for on Valentine 's Day. Someone to cuddle with on Sweetest day. Corey wanted a Valentine! Where was his sweetest? Probably a million miles away. Where else? Was it to much to ask to have a drop-dead gorgeous guy come marching over the shaded horizon on a white stallion? Where was that kiss he's always dreamt of? The one that would inspire a thousand poems? Like the end of a love story, when the man and.... well, other man, give in to their feelings, kiss as the music swells behind them, and they ride off into the sunset. It was a valid fantasy. Look at Gone with the Wind or even Meet me in St. Louis, by far his favorite movie of all time and of which he had chiseled every single solitary word of into his memory. When Judy Garland boards the trolley and her would be lover chases after her as everyone on the streetcar breaks into song, that was romance. Or the scene where Tom Drake, so blind to her affections escorts Judy around the house to turn out the lights, and she so desperately wanted him to kiss her, or give her some sign. Instead, he leaves her standing alone in the foyer. Then, she sings from the stairwell, as she extinguishes the remaining candles.

Alone. That was Corey. Always wanting to be loved, but it didn't seem to be possible. He'd come so close, that one time. That one time he wished he could go back and change, tell Jason he loved him, and he wanted to be with him. But, that too, was not to be.

A hard knock came to the bedroom door. Corey jolted so hard, that he bounced himself right off the edge of the bed. His Dad opened the door and poked his head in.

"You in here?"

Corey's head appeared just above the mattress as he sat up from the floor, looking rather perplexed.

"What are you doing on the floor?" His Father asked curiously.

Corey pushed his hair back from his face and offered a calm response, "I like the floor."

Timothy stepped in still looking at Corey as if he'd lost his mind, "Figured I'd say good-night."

Corey stood up, wincing as he held his lower back.

"You don't have to get up,"

Corey offered a sarcastic sneer. "It's okay, trust me, I was just getting up anyway."

He walked over and stood before his son, kissing him gently on the forehead. "You know if you need to talk, I'm always down the hall."

Corey looked up into his very own eyes. He knew his Father loved him. More than life itself, he loved him. Corey was his only son. All he had left of the woman with whom he'd shared so much of his life with. "I know, Dad."

Timothy grinned, shaking his head as he walked out of the door, closing it behind him.

Corey moved to his desk and collapsed into leather overstuffed chair. Things like this always happened to him. He was like a magnate for dumb accidents. A button stuck on stupid.

He was prone to accidents. That he was perhaps his own worst enemy was no exaggeration. There was the time he hoped to surprise his Mother by building her a bird house. His Dad let him use the nail gun, and he nailed the birdhouse to the floor, and then to make the situation ten times better, he nailed the skin between his thumb and pointer finger to the wood. It didn't hurt much, he just couldn't move until his parents came home. The entrance to the attic at their old house was only a thin door. You pulled the cord, a ladder flew down, you climbed up. He pulled it; the ladder flew down, and knocked him out for a half an hour. He lost a ring in the bathroom of a department store once, stuck his finger down to retrieve it, and had to have the fire department cut him loose. Humiliating. His shoelaces got stuck between the steps of an escalator. He had taken the fine art of orchestra in seventh grade. He played the violin and kept breaking his strings. They would slice through the air like razors. The Orchestra leader asked him ever so nicely to think of another hobby, or his fingers would be scarred for life. Naturally, being musically inclined, he then joined the High School Band. Trombone was his instrument of choice. While trying to march and play, he fell out of step and got to close the Marie Dephus. He popped her in the back of the head with his slider and sent her rolling over her bass drum.

He dubbed himself The Oaf of San Francisco, and carried the title well. Corey couldn't help but heckle at himself as he reminisced. He was a one man show. A clown at a circus. A jester in a court.

The phone beside him rang. "Hello?" He answered still laughing at himself.

"Hey there." The voice said on the other end. It was Chris.

Corey liked the sound of his voice. It always gave him something to look forward to. "Hey you, I was hoping you would call," Corey confessed.

"You were?" Chris asked with an element of surprise noted in his voice.

Gabe was watching him through the telescope from across the street.

"Absolutely, It kind of gives my day a.-" He sighed as he arched back his neck and gaped at the ceiling, "-A nice finale."

Gabe stood up from the telescope, and stepped across his dark room to his bed, "I saw you with Thomas this afternoon. You left with him."

Corey jerked forward, "If you were there, how come you didn't say something. How come you never introduced yourself? What is this?" He sounded almost accusatory.

"I'm just, you know, I want it to be the right time. I want to make a good impression."

"That's ridiculous. You already have!" Corey asserted as he flipped on his computer.

"Well, I'm shy." Gabe raised his hand and placed it over his eyes in torment.

"You don't have to be. We've already gotten to know each other. I would assume we were past all that now, the whole 'breaking the ice' phase."

Gabe was silent.

"If you don't want to meet me," Corey began meekly, "You should just say it. I don't want to play games, Chris. I don't want you to feel obligated to be friendly and compassionate to the new kid. I know how things work." He allotted politely.

Gabe sat up, frustrated, "It's nothing like that Corey. I just want things to be different. I wish things were different, but they're not and I like you, I really do-"

"But..." Corey interjected; here came the 'but.' 'I like you Corey, but..,' there always seemed to be a 'but.'

"But things in my life are just really complicated," Gabe finished. What a lame excuse. He hated himself.

Corey didn't make a sound what seemed an eternity, but when he spoke, his voice trailed, "I see."

"No you don't, you don't see. You don't know anything about me or my life."

"Then tell me!" Corey snapped, "I don't get what the big deal is, Chris? Would I shame you? Do you find me disgraceful? I don't understand. You call me up, you talk like you're my best friend, and you refuse to show me who you are."

Gabe felt his heart sink, pressure built against the backs of his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Corey held the telephone as close as he could, "You found out I was gay, didn't you? You're afraid if we're friends people will think the less of you, don't you?"

"Corey... I've been watching you... sitting there at school, and I can't stop. I think about what it would be like to touch you, or smell your hair. Just to talk to you, face to face, that would be... heaven," Gabe revealed trembling.

Corey sat intrigued. Neither of them uttered a syllable for about ten seconds. "Tell me why you're so afraid?"

Gabe felt a tear race down his face. It ran over his lip. This would kill him. "I'm not gay, Corey. I've never found another guy attractive. I've never thought about another guy the way I think about you, and I'm afraid I like you... more than I should," Gabe said, his voice breaking.

Corey was speechless. What should he do? Console this confused soul, lost in a world of chaos and denial? He remembered Jason. "I had a friend once. I don't think he was gay, but I believe he loved me. He never said it, but there were moments when I knew he did. Some people are born with this preference. I was, I know. But there are others, others who find that one person who makes them... complete, and that feeling surpasses every scientific definition, or social mandate. It's just there, and there are so many people who run from that, thinking it's just not right. They lose out on something so much more precious than a label." Corey could have been talking from his own experience. It was his theory. Love, or the meaning of love wasn't bound by social definition, despite most letting it define their lives. They let themselves be told what, and whom they should admire.

"It's not that simple, there are people who know me. People look up to me. I have to be an example." Gabe wiped his face roughly.

"So be one!" Corey issued, "You think because you like another human being, you can't be respected, or be a role model? You think you're any different than you are right now if you like a man. Hate is a sin. Hate and living a lie. If you live a lie, then you're not being who you're truly meant to be, and God wants every one of us to lead happy, full lives. That's why we're here." he paused and took a short breath, "You know, just because you like me doesn't mean you are Gay, Chris. Maybe it just means you hold me in some regard, or could it be that I remind you of someone else."

Gabe glanced out his window toward Corey's. "Do you believe in God?"

Corey sat quietly. God. He'd been over that in his head on more than one occasion. His answer came briefly, "He took my Mother."

Gabe watched as Corey rested his elbow on the surface of his desk, and placed his hand to his forehead in detriment.

"Oh. I didn't know." His words faded as he regretted the inquiry.

"It was about a year ago. She was coming home from work. It was her birthday, and she had just called from the car to say she was on her way. I baked her a cake. Chocolate was her favorite. I lit the candles and I sat down and waited. She never came home. I called her cellular, and a man answered. It was a policeman. 'Where's my Mother?' He didn't answer me. I could hear the crowd in the background. I could hear the cars. Then he told me there had been an accident. She was hit by a drunk driver, who lived. I hung up the phone, and I waited. I still waited for her to come home. I still do," Corey strained to hold in the wall of tears that built behind those glassy windows of sorrow.

Gabe shut his eyes. His chin quivered. He wanted to take all of the sadness from Corey. He wanted to hold him close and let him know he needn't weep alone any longer. "Life is cruel sometimes. It's not fair. Nothing is fair. But you're still here, Corey. You're still here to take what you've learned and use it. They say everything happens for a reason. Maybe your Mom had to go, just to show you that you weren't as weak as you believe. I know it sounds crazy, and you can't see it now, but in time, you will."

Corey turned off his computer. "Maybe," he started, "Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life..."

Gabe interrupted, finishing Corey's sentence. "Crying alone at night?"

"Maybe."

"Now, why don't you tell me, which one of us is afraid?" Gabe stated.

Corey shook his head, "No, Chris. It's not the same, you're afraid of a silly little feeling you have for a guy. You're afraid that you're gay. Your fear is entirely cosmetic. It's probably nothing. I'm sure every guy has considered it. Contrary to scientific belief, it's in our nature to be curious."

Gabe continued to watch him, "I'm not just curious. If that's what you want to think, Fine. Then, you're stuck in the same hole, Corey. You're in the dark hole because you're afraid that if you let your sadness go, the memories will follow. You're afraid to stop mourning her. You're at a crossroads, and you can go anyway you want. You can move on, and still keep part of her with you,"

"What makes you think I haven't moved on?" Corey shot back.

Gabe took a while to reply. "Because you're still waiting for her."

A hush befell the line. Gabe went on, "She already came home, Corey. She's home," Gabe said softly, "She's in heaven, and she's watching you, and loving you... still loving you." He listened to Corey's uneven breath. He was still missing, still fighting. "Look out your window," Gabe said quietly.

From the darkness of his own room. He watched Corey's figure appear.

Gabe proceeded, "Look for the brightest star in the sky, brighter than all the others."

Corey glanced upward. One star stood away from the rest, its light glowing steadily, "Why am I doing this?"

Gabe could see his thin shirt blowing against his frail body. He hoped for a moment that Corey would see him, and he would smile. He didn't.

"That's your Mom's star. Every time you feel sad look up, and there she'll be. High up in the sky, brighter than all of them, because she's shining for you. Just like when she was alive, she'll always be there for you. And you'll always remember her when you see that one star. You'll never be alone."

Corey took a lung full of air, closed his eyes, and felt his grief lift. A calm expression found its way to his face. "Thank you, Chris."

Gabe lowered his head sadly. He wasn't Chris. "Don't thank me. You did it all yourself." He wanted to tell him. Tell him everything. Tell him he loved him. That he wasn't just confused. He wanted to let him know he was Gabe. Not Chris. Gabe.

Corey remained framed in his window, "I want to see you."

"You will," Gabe promised.

"I want to see you tonight," Corey persisted.

Gabe felt his heart start to race, "Why?"

"I want to look into your face. I want to see who you are."

Tell him! Tell him now! Gabe wanted to run to his window, "I'm here, I'm right here," he wanted yell. He readied his feet against the carpet, like he would explode toward the window and yell Corey's name. Then he halted. No. He had still lied. He was still a liar.

"Tomorrow," he said.

Then Corey disappeared from the window. The moment was gone.

"Where tomorrow?" Corey solicited.

"Meet me in the Gym after school. It'll be empty."

"Okay," Corey agreed, "Good night, Chris."

"Good Night, Corey. Sweet dreams."

The phone went quiet.

That morning, Corey walked through the halls of school smiling. He looked his best. He wore his oversized, white dress shirt, the only one he hadn't spilled something on. His faded blue jeans and black shoes. He was confident on this day. He put his bag in his locker and turned to see Angie coming down the hall. She was followed by several girls, talking and laughing. Corey could see she was beaming. She was now one of them, or better yet, they were like her.

She approached him with her entourage behind her, smiling as she rolled her eyes. "Look at what you did- All the sudden, I'm Miss Popular." She grumbled mockingly.

Her hair was neatly curled, and not nearly as greasy as it had been. Corey even detected a hint of red lipstick and eye shadow. This was not the gloomy Angie he had introduced himself to, not so long ago.

"You look fabulous!"

"Sabrina taught me how to put on make-up. I know, I gave in. What can I say, I'm weak. We all went shopping yesterday, and I helped the girls pick out some new clothes. I've had three guys ask me out just this morning," She spouted gleefully. "I have one question to ask you, Corey Evans?"

Corey watched her closely. She was even more beautiful than he imagined. "What's that?"

Angie embraced him, "Where are your wings?"

Corey didn't reply. He smiled at her contentedly as she walked away and stepped around the corner to his home room, and took his seat. This day couldn't go by fast enough. He felt unusually optimistic; nothing could ruin this, not even if the sky should fall.

And it did. A paper airplane landed on his desk. He looked up, searching the room. Everyone sat quiet. More quiet than they ever had.

He unfolded the paper and saw a revolting drawing, the caption was even worse; "Aids Faggot."

He felt his stomach tighten and cramp, like someone had just punched him. He looked at the faces that stared, peeling away his skin with their hateful eyes. He stood up from his seat, leaving the paper on his desk. He had to get out of there. He started down the aisle when someone stuck their foot out. Corey crashed to the cold ceramic floor, landing on his arms. The entire class roared with laughter. He didn't move right away. He felt humiliated... degraded. Finally, he got back up on his feet and ran to the door. He collided with Gabe, who was just entering. Corey didn't even look into Gabe's face. He just moved around him, and then took off down the hall.

Gabe turned back to the rowdy class. He walked toward the back of the room, and as he came to Corey's desk, he saw the paper. The words cut him like a knife.

Corey sat in the bathroom stall. He was crouched between the wall and the toilet. His knees were drawn to his chest, and he cradled himself. Why? Why would someone want to hurt him? He hadn't done anything to these people, yet they wanted to hurt him. He decided he hated Sadie. This freakish little backward town. This was not a place where he ever dreamed he'd end up. This was like the places he'd heard horror stories about. Things happen in small towns like this. Scary things. What could his Father have been thinking? Why would he have moved so blindly. He heard the bathroom door open, then close.

Great! Someone followed to add insult to injury. Maybe they wouldn't notice him. Maybe they would just leave him there. Leave him alone. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. No one had ever went out of their way to be vicious. That his Father would expect him to successfully adapt to a place like Sadie, Connecticut was unthinkable. Back home he had never been directly exposed to such bigotry. This type of mentality simply did not exist is his world, and now he found himself in the middle of it.

He heard the stall door jostle. He looked up as it slowly opened. Rachel Porter appeared.

"Corey?" Her eyes were torn and concerned.

Had she come after him? Did she want a laugh too? Rachel took a step closer to him. She knelt down beside him, staring into his pale face. She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him to her chest. Then he sat up, taking a piece of toilet paper out of the dispenser to wipe his nose.

"How did you find me?"

Rachel leaned against the wall beside him, "I came in to be alone, I heard you in here."

"Do you always have alone time in the Men's bathroom?"

Rachel grinned, "This isn't the Men's bathroom."

Corey whimpered and buried his head in his hands. "Figures."

"What happened?"

"People. Mean people. I hate mean people," he explained sniffling.

"Me too. Thankfully, not everyone's like that. You have the good and bad wherever you go. You just, weed out the bad. Ignore it. If you let them hurt you, they'll keep on hurting."

"Why, what's the purpose?" Corey examined.

Rachel let her head fall back against the wall, "Just to be cruel. It's like that show, National Geographic. You have the hunters, the hunted, and the people who just sit back and watch. You can be strong, and gain a cruel streak of your own, or you can be timid and weak and run from them, hoping they don't catch you. Or..." She paused in great thought, "you can just observe. Withdraw from the game, refuse to play, and stop letting them force you into taking part in something you're above."

"What are you?" Rachel pondered the question. What was she? She certainly wasn't a hunter. "I always believed I was an observer. Watching all the madness inside, from the outside. But I began to think I was invincible. I had everything I needed in this plastic bubble, and no one could take it away from me. No one could hurt me, and then... someone did."

"Who?"

Rachel stared at the tiles on the ceiling, "Someone I've loved for many, many years. Someone I imagined myself marrying, having children with, growing old with, dying with. Now he's not in love with me and I feel so blind, like everything around me, everything I've always counted on and trusted to be real and everlasting is only an illusion. My illusion. I guess I did it to myself, you know. I walked around with this ignorant sense of stability, like I was on solid ground, and then you realize, in an instant, it can all crumble beneath you." Her voice grew hoarse. Rachel had faced the more brutal side of her existence. She now carried her first major battle wound. One most teenagers are inflicted with early on in life. But the world, and the torrential conditions swarming beyond the invisible walls of Sadie had found its way to her. Perhaps she would be swallowed up by reality. Consumed by real significance.

"You're seventeen, Rachel. You're a young, vibrant, beautiful woman. There's so much in store for you, so much knowledge and wonder. So, you lost your boyfriend. So, your plans have changed. There's a valuable lesson in this." Corey concluded.

Rachel turned to him, "What?"

"From the moment I met you, I saw this sweet, pure, girl with this sincere innocence. I could tell you had a privileged life, probably a cheerleader, liked by everyone. And I knew that if the most incidental thing in your life shifted, your house of cards would fall. You'd be asking yourself what the hell happened. You can't rely on other people to hold you up, Rachel. You have to understand that bad things will happen. No matter what you do, or how you try to avoid it, you will be thrown a curve ball. Your whole direction could change, and instead of suffering major shock, you need to be prepared, and say, 'Okay, so things won't turn out the way I hoped they would. I'm a beautiful, smart, young woman and I will survive because I'm strong, and I'm brave.'" He realized, as the words tumbled from his lips, he could do well with taking his own advice.

"Is that what they teach you in California?" Rachel grinned.

Corey tried to stand, his bones ached, "That's what they teach you in the real world. Sadie, as far as I'm concerned, is not the real world."

"Then what is it?" Rachel took his hand, and he helped her to her feet.

"A nasty, practical joke." He laughed as they walked out of the stall.

When mid-day finally rolled around, Corey sat quietly at the table in the corner of the cafeteria. He had felt better since his talk with Rachel. So a few people didn't like him because he was gay. So what. Uneducated barbarians, he thought, and he pitied these poor simple folk. He always had. He was a compassionate individual. Feed the children. Educate the ignorant. That was his motto. Well, maybe he would make it his motto.

Every time Chris crossed his mind the hair stood on his arms. After all they had said, all they had confessed, they would finally look each other in the eye. This was so important to Corey. His relationship with Chris had become so charged with wonder, and possibilities. It was strange, how he felt about this guy. This kid he'd never met before, never had the opportunity to prejudge, had worked his way into his life. He cared about Chris. He waited to hear his voice during those peaceful nighttime hours. He had become such a part of his life. He had grown to mean so much to Corey. Even if there wasn't a romantic tendency, the friendship alone was priceless, and true. Wait a second. Why wouldn't there be romance? Chris had already admitted to liking him, and Corey could easily feel the same way, maybe he already did. This may be his happy ending. No- not ending, his happy beginning. The beginning of happily ever after. Like a fairy tale. He could see it all now. They'd step into the gymnasium from opposite sides. It would be just them. All alone. They would step toward each other. No words needed, because the emotion would be so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Raw emotion. They would stand before each other for the first time. They would gaze upon each other's face. The music would rise, they'd kiss, and credits would roll.

Corey was drenched in his fantasy. He looked across the room. The music from the speakers had found him. "Hold me, Thrill me, Kiss me," was beginning. Corey slipped further away. The lights of the cafeteria dimmed.

The garbled voices around him faded as the male cook behind the buffet jumped up onto the table, singing into his soup ladle. "Hold me, Hold me, Never let me go until you've told me, told me, What I want to know and then just hold me, hold me. Make me tell you I'm in love with you."

Corey watched as the students danced in synchronized motions around him, singing the background vocals. Kicking up their legs, and twirling around. The cook sang directly to Corey, reaching down, taking his hand and pulling him up onto the table. "Kiss me, Kiss me, and when you do I know that you will miss me, miss me, if we ever say ado so kiss me, kiss me. Make me tell you I'm in love with you..."

Corey held up his hands and spun in circles, then fell into the crowd, and they caught him, carrying him over their heads. They placed him up onto another table and serenaded him.

"Never, never, never let me go! Never, never, never let me go!" They chanted.

"COREY!" Angie yelled. Immediately, Corey was brought back into his real surroundings. He stopped twirling, and looked down at Angie, then around at the many students watching him. He realized he was standing on a table. He looked down at the kids below him. They all held their trays away from his feet. Feeling dizzy, he dropped to his knees.

Angie rushed to help him off of the table, "What were you doing?"

"I was singing," Corey replied in disbelief. He couldn't believe the fantasy had become so real. He couldn't believe he just danced across lunch tables in front of everyone.

"That's obvious," Angie replied grinning, "Even I've never done that."

Corey held his hand to his head, it spun. "I guess I got a little carried away," he offered. Like that was a good excuse for losing his mind.

Angie led him back to the table, "Well, it was a nice number, I was impressed. But, I'm not so sure about those guys who were sitting at that table you paraded across."

"I was fantasizing. People were dancing and singing to me. Like in one of those old musicals. No one ever stared at Judy Garland."

Angie smirked, "Judy Garland never sang in our cafeteria either."

Corey settled back into his chair, "Where's your fan club?"

Angie took a cherry from her bowl of ice cream and placed it aside wincing, "They cut lunch to go shopping. I was starving, so I stayed behind, lucky for you. Otherwise you would've been going into the seventh chorus of some Barbara Streisand song by now."

"I'm meeting Chris today. In the gym." Corey offered excitedly.

Angie remained calm. It wasn't the reaction Corey had hoped for. Angie placed her fork down on the napkin and cleared her throat, she appeared troubled. "Is that really what you want?"

Corey was distressed by her lack of enthusiasm, "Angie, this guy is so different from everyone else around here. Everything he says takes my breath away. He's the most wonderful person; he's interested in me, Angie. Do you know how rare it is for me to actually have a guy like me? I mean, this is a good thing. This is so right, Angie. This guy is the real deal. You should be happy for me. I want you to be happy for me."

Angie forced a false grin, "I am happy for you, Corey. Congratulations." She tried hard not to let him see her reservation. She didn't want to see her friend hurt. He had done so much for her in just the short time she'd known him, and she couldn't tolerate seeing him in pain. That would be unbearable, for she knew pain. It was her only friend for so long, and she wouldn't let it recruit him. She never wanted him to feel that sorrow.

At the chime of the three o'clock bell, Corey jumped from his seat, and ran to his locker. His heart pounded against the wall of his narrow chest. He tossed his books into his locker and slammed it. Chris was probably already there, waiting for him. He rushed down the hall, slid around the corner, nearly falling on his face, and stopped in front of a pair of large metal doors marked "Gymnasium." He could not quit smiling. He wanted to burst in and hug Chris. Maybe he shouldn't hug him, that seemed to forward. He would shake his hand. No, too formal. He would... well, he would wait for Chris to make the first move.

Corey gripped the metal door handle, inhaled, held it, then pushed it open and walked inside. It was empty. Completely empty. He moved farther into the gym. His footsteps echoed off the far walls and high ceiling. He felt so tiny in there. So minute. He stood in the center of the room and bounced the toe of his shoe on the floor nervously. Chris hadn't arrived yet, but when he did, he would see Corey standing there, dressed to impress. He would show Chris he had nothing to be afraid of, and he would regret not meeting him sooner.

He hummed the theme to Meet Me in St. Louis as his leg supplied the beat. He tossed a basketball toward the hoop. Never made one. He walked back to the gym doors, peering down the empty school hallways to see if anyone remained. He watched the clock high on the wall as it came upon the five o'clock hour. He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

Finally, he heard the heavy doors creak open. He instantly perked up, watching in anticipation for Chris to come around the corner. His blood sped through his veins. The Janitor wheeled his mop bucket into the gym. Corey watched him mop half of the floor. He never said a word, but he wondered why this young boy sat in there alone. The old man finished his job then wheeled his bucket back out of the room.

Alone again.

Corey hung his head. Chris wasn't coming. He had left him here to wait. The florescent lights above darkened with a loud click. The sunlight spilled from the windows onto the wooden, laminated floor. It was now absolutely still. The room had become a mixture of shadows and light. Orange and gray. He felt like the last soul on Earth. He could scream at the top of his lungs right now and no one would be there to hear. He didn't want to move, it would disturb the silence that surrounded him. He felt paralyzed, as if the air that hung on him weighed a ton. As shards of radiant sunlight crawled up the opposite wall, he mustered the energy to stand up. They would lock the doors soon, he knew that. Moving from the shadows into oblong squares of on the floor, he threw his bag over his shoulder and glanced around.

So much could've happened here today. Right in that very room, two people would have introduced themselves into each other's lives. It was not meant to be. Maybe after deliberating on the matter, Chris found that it was only passing curiosity and he really had no interest in Corey at all. This was his way of dismissing the idea. Leaving him here. He heard the door open again. Yeah, yeah. He was leaving. He was sure it was the janitor returning to tell him it was time to go.

He turned to find Angie coming toward him. She stopped a few feet away, not speaking. They scanned each other's faces. Angie didn't have to be told. She knew. Just by his expression and way he stood, so lonely.

"He didn't come," Corey said somberly, his voice weak. He was embarrassed. He should have not been so ignorant, so naive.

Angie tilted her head sympathetically. The sight of him made her want to weep. She took the few steps that remained between them and took him into her arms. There he cried. It was safe to cry. He knew she understood. She caressed his hair and held him close. There was nothing she could say to take away his hurt. But the silence said enough. She didn't have to say anything; despite there being so much she needed to say. "I love you," She thought. "I could love you like you deserve."

She had fallen in love with him, or what she believed to be love. All she knew was that this was a feeling she had never felt before, one she never knew she could feel. She loved Corey, and the worst pain she had endured, worse than the years of torment and seclusion, worse than the endless tears she shed at night during those years was knowing he could never love her. She understood that, and it would be okay. She would survive, and though she would love him for the rest of her life, she would never tell him. Corey had saved her. Taken her as a homely caterpillar and transformed her into a butterfly. He had set her free. That's why she would love him always. For now, she simply took solace comforting him. There they would remain until the light of day had withered.

The desire to call him had become a near obsession. It invaded her every thought, no matter how she tried to distract herself, the awareness would creep in and inflame every attempt she made to resist. Insecurity had reared its ugly head and thoughts, which she acknowledged as ludicrous, polluted her mind, silly thoughts, like he had found someone else, someone better, someone prettier. She wondered if she was no longer enough, if somehow she had neglected some critical part of their relationship. She was completely consumed by the events of recent... what had moved him to turn on her as he had, to speak so cruelly... to abandon her? He had not bothered to phone. Sunday came and went and he never showed for their walk.

Rachel sat upon the edge of her bed, defeated. With every part of her soul, she fought to pinpoint the moment things changed and she came up empty handed.

Gabe had never been callous; it was simply not in his nature. It must have been something she had said, something she had done that would instigate his sudden distance... but what? Perhaps there was someone else. Someone he felt more deserving of his companionship. Someone smarter. Someone more....

She dropped her face into her hands, but wouldn't cry. She was frustrated, angry even. She was doing it again, piling over that singular event that had altered her ability to function since its occurrence. How can someone impact us in such a vile way? How can we be so dependent on another without even realizing it? If it didn't matter to him enough to even call her, why was it killing her? Why could she not stop thinking? Why did the heart not come with an off switch? His must have, and for no apparent reason, he had flipped it.

How could he do this to her? She had been nothing but loyal, nothing but loving and supportive, submissive and understanding. What- WHAT- happened?

It wasn't so much his departure that drover her to brink of insanity, it was her own pathetic need for him. She stared hard at the phone, she willed it to ring. Where was he now? What was he doing? Who was he with? Was he thinking of her, regretting his actions? Was he even sorry? So many questions, and he didn't even care enough to allow her the opportunity to ask. No closure was extended, not even a good-bye. It was eating away at her from the inside, literally controlling her, and she was angry at herself for giving him that control. The greatest part of her wanted to rise above it and say out loud, so what, who cares? But it would be a lie. She cared. And she was angry at herself for that too.

She blew a wisp of air from her mouth and stood before her full length mirror. She pulled off her shirt and took her flannel pajama top from the edge of her bed. She turned back to the mirror and stopped dead in her tracks.

This was not her reflection. This was not her looking back. Had it been so long since she looked at herself? Really looked at herself? Where had the freckles gone from across the bridge of her nose? The limbs that seemed way to long for her gangly body? She ran her hand down from her chest over her full breasts. Her nipples tingled as her fingers passed them. Her breasts were so beautiful. Her skin so sensitive.

She felt her way to her naval. Her fingers barely touching her milky flesh. She couldn't take her eyes from the mirror image. The little girl was gone forever. This was some unfamiliar woman whose body she inhabited without realizing it. She felt attractive and empowered. This was what she had become. What all girls wait to be? She liked this body, this face, these breasts and the softness of it. It was all her. This was Rachel Porter.

Her muscles tensed as she moved her hand farther downward. At first she jolted, gasping shortly. A tickling sensation began in her stomach. It was like something electric had forced its way under her skin and sparks erupted inside. A flood of emotions, all at once had been unleashed. She closed her eyes tightly. It seemed even through the blackness, she saw the color of red emanating from her pores, like heat waves from a fiery furnace. She burned. This body, this new body moved and craved in such ways, ways she never dreamed, something foreign, something unexpected. Sweat beaded on her face. Her mouth hung open slightly in an almost pained expression. She rolled her head from one shoulder to the other, her veins pulsating. Her long, dark hair fell in waves across her bare back.

Corey sat on the steps of his front porch. A red Thunderbird pulled up to the curb of his house. It was Thomas. He walked up the sidewalk toward him, and Corey welcomed with a smile.

"Hi, I was wondering when I'd hear from you."

Thomas sat next to him, folding his hands between his legs, "I had to get out of that house."

"I didn't see you at school. Everything okay?"

Thomas took a minute to answer him. He looked out across the lawn at the streetlights that had just begun to glow, "I didn't feel that great. I wanted to go, so I could see you, but I figured I'd just catch you later."

Corey pushed his hair back, if only because he didn't know what else to do with his hands, "I was thinking about what happened yesterday."

"What's that? "

Corey looked at him surprised, "With your Father..."

"I know. He looks like he can be really cold." Thomas admitted. "I was worried that he might have scared you."

"Is that why you're so afraid to tell anyone? Is it your Dad?" Corey asked.

"I guess to be quite honest... he is a big part of it. I just don't know how he would take it," Thomas observed.

Corey sat up straight, "I guess I'm really lucky to have such good parents... parent. My Dad has never questioned it. He just accepts me for who I am... so did my Mother," he fell quiet for a moment, then added; "I'm always here, anytime you need me."

Thomas glared at him. He had to get it out, "I have something I want to say. I figure I'd better say it now-"

Corey began fidgeting with button on his shirt sleeve.

Thomas struggled, "I- I want to make sure I say the right thing and I don't sound like an imbecile... I thought-"

Corey stopped him. He knew what he was going to say. He'd heard it all before. I like you, but I want to make sure that you don't expect me to be anything other than a friend. He didn't need to hear it before getting the point. He wasn't stupid. "I already know, Thomas. I don't want to be anything but friends either. I mean, look at us, we'd look ridiculous together. I know your situation, and we're best as friends and only friends. I'm unlucky at the love game anyway, so with my track record, it would be over before it began. Friends are forever." HA! He got it out first. He beat him to the punch. Thomas probably thought he was psychic. By the look on his face, he was definitely startled.

"Okay... Sorry I'm bothered you with it," Thomas sighed. Although he showed no sign of it he was shattered, but he expected rejection. So, why didn't it make it any easier?

"Friends." Corey smiled, placing his hand on Thomas' back.

Thomas jerked forward gasping through clenched teeth. He arched his spine in pain.

"What's wrong?"

Thomas exhaled slowly, lowering his shoulders, "Nothing, I just slept wrong that's all."

Corey stood, "Come inside with me."

Thomas got up and began walking backward, suddenly anxious "No, I should get home. Thanks for the talk and all."

"Please come in," Corey persisted.

Thomas stopped. He studied Corey who was framed under the veranda. He hovered on the step for a minute and then relented, following him inside.

They walked through the foyer, and headed up the stairs and into Corey's bedroom. He closed the door and turned directly to Thomas who stood in his trademark white T-shirt and ragged jeans.

Corey took a step closer to him, "Show me."

Thomas just stared at him precariously. He felt his knees weaken. He shouldn't have come here. He should've just kept going.

"What?"

"Please."

Thomas glanced around the room rapidly. There was no way out. He wanted to run as fast as he could, he wanted to get away. He could laugh, pretend it was a joke, but nothing would come from his throat. It had tightened.

"Please," Corey repeated.

He watched as Thomas lifted his shirt over his torso and then above his head. It fell to the floor. He looked deep into Corey's eyes.

Corey returned the stare. "Turn around."

Thomas hesitated for a moment. He swallowed hard and then turned. His back was covered with swollen welts that had sliced through his skin. He could see scars of old wounds that ran beneath the new ones. Black bruises ran from the top of his shoulder blades onto his scalp, hidden under his hair. When Thomas would move, the welts would separate and expose deep gashes. Pink flesh was visible between the sides of each gaping slash.

It was silent.

He tapped the wounds with a warm washcloth gently to soften the dried blood and wipe it away. Thomas lay on his bed, one arm folded under his head.

"Why does he do it?" Corey demanded; his anger evident in his tone.

Thomas wasn't facing him, he faced the open window, "It's not as bad as it looks."

Corey wet his rag in a bowl of water and Epsom salts, "How come you never told anyone?"

Thomas felt the sting of the salt, "What for? So they could save me? Rescue me? I don't need rescuing. I can handle myself."

"Can't you go live with your Mom? Anyone?"

Thomas turned toward him, watching him as he placed the cloth on his back. He was so lovely. "My Mom left when I was three. I never heard from her again. She just took off one day, and never came back. She couldn't take the beatings, so she just... disappeared."

"Why didn't she take you?"

"She couldn't. He had legal claim to me. If she would've run away with me, he would've used the law to find us. She would have been a kidnapper and he would've probably killed her. He would do that. He can be pretty psychotic," Thomas pointed out.

Corey picked up the gauze and surgical tape from the first aide kit at his side. He softly laid it on Thomas's back. "Don't let him hurt you again."

"Don't worry about me, Corey. I always get a few punches in before going down. Besides, I'll be eighteen in a month. Then I'm gone. Far away from here." His voice fell to a whisper and then he cringed from the pain as Corey set another bandage.

"Where is far away?" Corey inquired, distracting him from the stinging.

"Don't know yet. What about you?" He retorted.

Corey moved his fingers along the edge of the gauze, "San Francisco. Hoping I'll be a famous writer."

"Then you will be."

Corey applied another bandage, "I think so. You'll probably be a famous artist someday. You have real talent... from what I've seen!" He teased.

"It embarrasses me when people look at my drawings. I hate being judged by strangers who have no concept of my purpose. How can anyone honestly say whether something is really good or a piece of shit when they have no idea what it represents? I draw what's in my heart, and to have someone criticize it would really bother me. Don't laugh, but it's true,"

Corey smiled as he began tearing off another piece of tape, "I'm not laughing. I'm the same way when I write. It's always exceptional moments, or exceptional people that inspire me... like my mother, she was inspiring," Corey found himself discreetly reminiscing.

"Yeah, well... if she was anything like you," Thomas remarked. Looking up at Corey, who was taken by his words, he smiled, "Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Corey answered quietly.

They were trapped in each other's gaze, which could have lasted forever had not the telephone rang, pulling them out of their trance.

They both peered at it, discreetly bitter. "Get it," Corey stated. His hands were full of gauze.

Thomas picked the telephone up from the night stand, he held the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" Nothing.

Gabe stood in utter shock. It was Thomas, at Corey's. What was he doing at Corey's?

"Hello?" Thomas spoke from the other end.

"Is C-Corey there?" Gabe stuttered.

Thomas held the phone toward Corey, "It's for you."

Corey gently applied the last bandage and ran his fingers along the tape. He took the receiver, "Hello?"

"We have to talk," Gabe announced anxiously.

"No we don't," Immediately he hung up.

Thomas looked at him curiously, "That was the fastest conversation I've ever witnessed."

"If he calls again, just let it ring."

"Okay, but, why?"

Corey jumped from the bed and placed the medical kit in his dresser drawer, "It's some guy who keeps playing head games with me. We've only talked on the phone but he refuses to meet me. He left me sitting in the gym for two hours waiting for him, now he wants to offer me some lame excuse."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," Corey scoffed.

Thomas sat up as the telephone began ringing again.

Corey listened intensely.

Thomas watched him. He could tell he wanted to answer it.

"You like him." Thomas concluded.

Corey rolled his eyes. He walked over to the phone, picked it up, and slammed it back down on its base.

"You do, don't you?" Thomas pried.

"I don't like him. I don't even know him."

Thomas scooted to the edge of the bed, "Then why are you so mad?"

"I'm not mad!" Corey spat, then calmed, "I'm not mad. I'm just irritated."

Thomas bit his tongue, "You're mad."

Corey pulled his hair off of his shoulders and fanned his neck. It was getting hot. The phone screamed again.

Thomas stood from the bed and walked up behind Corey. "If you didn't like him, Corey, you wouldn't be so angry." Secretly, his heart was breaking.

Corey sighed heavily, "No, Thomas," He forced a condescending laugh, "Besides, he's just a voice on the phone. Just a voice."

Thomas put his powerful hands on Corey's shoulders. Though his hands looked rough, the touch was gentle, "Really," he whispered, He placed his head against Corey's, breathing him in. His soft black hair moved against Thomas's face. He smelled so good. Like a new blossom in spring. His eyes closed as he moved a strand of Corey's thick mane across his lips. He had loved him. He was loving him now. He forced his hands from Corey's body, waiting for him to turn, but Corey didn't.

Thomas felt a weight in his chest as he slowly walked toward the bedroom door. He wanted Corey to call him back. He needed to hear him say he cared. Thomas never heard a sound. He walked out of the room stopping once in the doorway. He debated whether to turn, whether he should bother even saying good-bye. He knew that if he turned and went back it would be impossible to leave him again. "I hope this one works out for you. You said you were unlucky in this game, maybe you're due for a win."

Corey didn't reply. He didn't even acknowledge that Thomas was still there.

He was overcome with confusion. Why did he care about Chris so much? What was it about him? That voice that calmed his fears and eased his pain. The awareness that there was this guy out there watching him in secret. The way Chris seemed to understand the way he felt, and suffered with him. Or was it the mystery? This grand mystery that had become such a part of him. Yes, Chris occupied his thoughts and piqued his imagination. He had brought the side long dead back to life. The side that still believed in magic. He did care for Thomas, but he couldn't entertain something that would never be. He couldn't toy with himself like that. Wait... isn't that what he was doing with Chris? He had been so fascinated with this riddle of his nightly caller. Obsessed with this mirage. But this too was a false indulgence. Something that would never be.

Meeting Thomas's shy advances with deaf ears, Corey had unknowingly ignored the reality for the fantasy.

Corey turned to Thomas, only he was no longer there. He had left, and Corey didn't blame him. Thomas may hate him now. What an insult, so taken with a voice on a phone, over a series of digital circuits that he ignored him, he hadn't even bothered to say good-bye. He ran to the window as Thomas reached for his car door.

"Thomas!" Corey yelled.

Thomas looked up. He seemed so small out there in a world that held him prisoner. He smiled up to Corey, who returned it generously.

"I'll see you soon?"

Thomas grinned, "Anytime."

He got into his car, and drove off down Harrington.

The phone rang again. Corey rushed to it and unplugged the cord from the wall. Then he sat on the edge of his bed. Why was Chris doing this to him? Why couldn't he just leave him alone?

Gabe listened as the tone went dead. He was going crazy. He had to talk to him. He had to hear his voice. He paced across his floor, bothered by the distance that separated them now. There was still so much he had to say. So much he wanted Corey to know. His breathing grew shallow, his pulse pounded. He felt shut out. Locked away from the one he had grown to care so much for. Without thinking, a tense expression filling his face, he flew to the window, his body shaking with desperation. "COREY!"

Corey spun around. His name still echoed in the distance. Though it had only been called once, it had not yet faded. Thunder rolled across the evening sky, giving notice of an impending storm. He stared through the open window, the sheer curtains flapped lightly in the breeze. It seemed so dark from where he sat. He saw nothing.

He trembled where he stood, locking his knees for fear they might give out. His skin began to crawl. With one slow step at a time, he made his way to the window, looking down upon the lawn. Nothing. He looked down Harrington both ways. It was empty. He felt like he was on the edge of a towering cliff waiting to fall. How could Chris get here so fast? He had only unplugged his telephone seconds ago. Corey left his window and raced to the phone jack, plugging in the telephone once again.

It rang instantaneously. He lifted the receiver to his ear. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. He swallowed and then tried again, "Hello," he whispered in a tone somewhere between excitement and fright.

"Don't hang up on me. Never hang up on me again, I can't bear it," Gabe begged, on the verge of tears.

Corey stood up; an ominous chill ran over his flesh. He stepped back to his window. "W-Where are you?" He asked, shuddering.

Gabe listened as the rain began to fall on the other side of the blinds he had pulled over his window, "I'm right here."

Corey was silent as he walked out of his bedroom. He descended the staircase, his senses now fully alert. He cautiously opened his front door, peering out into the steady black sheet of rain. Still holding the phone to his ear he took one step onto the porch. "Why can't I see you?"

Gabe watched him through a narrow slit, "I can see you."

Corey spun around quickly, searching all directions for any sign, any movement, or reflection. "Don't bother Corey, you can't see me," Gabe informed, as if to taunt him in some sadistic way.

A tear swelled on Corey's eyelid, "Why are you doing this to me?" He pleaded in despair.

"I needed to hear your voice," Gabe answered.

Corey raced to the edge of the porch and leaned over the edge. Why was he hiding like this? He looked out over the lawn as white lightening flashed across the sky. "Show yourself, Chris. Come out now." Corey barked impatiently.

"Why? You hate me for leaving you in the gym, I know you do." Gabe scowled.

Corey felt the cool mist from the ground hit his face, his anger was steadily building, "I waited for you for hours. I waited and you never came. Now you're here... somewhere, and you're hiding from me all over again. Chris, I'm tired of this game. I thought you were my friend... you're only a coward."

Gabe slammed his fist into the wall; it wasn't that he didn't want to meet him. It was the fear of the consequence that drove to these measures. He could love him, in secret, for there no one could laugh, or criticize him for falling victim to this crushing obsession he had with Corey. "Meet me in the park at the end of the street; I'll be there this time."

"No. You come here right now, come out where I can see you. You come right up to me and... and.. tell me why," Corey fought.

Gabe pressed his head against the oak pane of the window. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to be a part of you. Talk to you and know you heard me, and you talk to me, only to me, and you gave me that. I never meant for it to go this far, I never meant to fall for you the way I have, but I have, and it's killing me inside. So much of what I feel conflicts with my life, like it just can't be. I can't feel this way, but I can't stop."

His voice trickled into Corey's ear. It would be impossible not to pity Chris, he was fighting so hard to reason with himself. Corey listened attentively. He walked off the porch and stood in the rain. It felt good on this warm night. He saw steam rising up from the hot street pavement, and the round globes of the old fashioned street lamps. "Can you still see me?"

Gabe wiped the tears from his face and glared below, "Yes."

"Look at me and place my voice with my face. This is more than I can deal with, and instead of hating you, Chris... Don't call me again."

Gabe grabbed for words, any words... "Wait!"

Corey hung up and let his hand fall to his side. He looked up and let the drops of rain hit his face and slide down his slender neck. He turned and walked back into his house.

Gabe moved against the wall to the corner of the dark room. He quietly cried as he collapsed to the floor, drawing up his knees, cradling himself to the serene tune of the summer rain that sang for him, the Earth shaking blast of thunder that scolded him. What have you done? What have you done?

Damned you are... and Damned you'll remain. You love another man.

Then I shall be damned, for damnation is tolerable.

What about God? Are you denouncing your savior?

I am denouncing my pain. What is a savior that allows you to bleed? Bleed in silence.

Repent and you shall be forgiven for your trespasses.

And when I repent, what shall I say? I am guilty of loving another human being. I am guilty of nothing else.

Leviticus 18:22 Thou shall not lie with mankind, It is an abomination.

It is an abomination to have never loved. To lay with anyone without love is an abomination. To lay with someone in the presence of love is a blessing, a gift. My love is pure. My love is holy. Alma 39:19 Abominable above all sins save it be the shedding of innocent blood. I have shed no blood. I have lived my life according to the testaments, now, that I love another man, am I cast away? Tell me, why allow such a divine emotion, and then damn me for it? Is that not an abomination itself?

Real love is between a man and a woman.

My love is equal. It is said the same, spelled the same, and felt just as a man for a woman. Just as precious, just as real.

Romans 1:27, Men... burned in their lust toward one another.

Is that it? I shall burn for loving? What of those who hate, and despise, should they not burn? Should I die alone, would that be acceptable? Should I pretend to love a woman, and bear her false adoration? Or shall I burn for that to? Tell me, what should I do?

Repent, and be saved from drowning in your lake of sin.

I will repent, as soon as I find a sin suitable of repenting for. Otherwise, I will love, and be loved, and be happy. Am I not your loyal servant? Do I not deserve happiness? Do I not deserve to feel the love of another? I am a man, a man created by God himself in his own image. Did God make a mistake? Am I a defective product off of some heavenly assembly line? No, God doesn't make mistakes. I am who I am because God made me this way. To curse myself for feeling love would be a sin. That would be a sin suitable for repentance. Isn't that what being human is about? loving? A feeling no other species on this planet is capable of recognizing as love. We are the one kind that understands the word love. God made one intellectual kind with the ability to reason and act on our feeling, one kind bestowed with the gifts of love. Everyone wants to be loved, we need to be loved. It's like a hunger. If we're not fed, we die. How can such a beautiful thing shared between two beings of this one maker be sinful? If I am damned for this, then take me now. Take this needy soul from my body, because I do not want it. I will not live in a world that allows me to be hated and abused because I have loved another. Send me to a place where love is welcome and appreciated, and hate doesn't exist. Take me to a place where lives can be shared, not based on gender, but on the degree of love bestowed on one another. Let me be in a safe and harmonious place where I will not have this battle raging inside. A place where the law IS to love, and the abomination is to deface those who do so. Is this very thought so unimaginable? Or is the place I speak of heaven itself? I shall love there too. You cannot remove this from me like a dying organ. This roots much deeper than anything touchable. Even long after I am dead, buried and my corpse rots beneath the ground, you can't take this from me. It is mine and mine alone. I shall love in heaven, I shall love in hell. The conversation between us now, You telling, me I shall burn, I am an abomination... Isn't that birthed from hatred itself? Doesn't that spawn others like you to believe I am evil and defiant of you? That I am less of a human, less of what you created because I love another man. If this is my God, if this is the standard to which I must live my life, this acceptance of cruelty, then I renounce you.

The voice in Gabe's head fell silent. He had fought a victorious fight. He made a convincing case. It was the truth. He fought for the truth and won. Unfortunately, his fear remained, and while he knew it wasn't wrong to love Corey Evans, others would hate him for it. Strip him of his dignity and laugh. Cruel world. The fear seethed like a cauldron of poison. It could kill him, this fear. He couldn't stop it. Though he was strong and disciplined, he thrived in a society that would prefer to see him die than let him love. The battle with the voice had been won, but the war with his fear continued. How many were stumbling through this very war he was now? How man across this world suffered as he was. There were many he imagined, all on the front lines fighting for their right to love. It would take the courage of a thousand men to win, because fear held millions in its grip. It was truly the most formidable enemy. One strengthened by its followers. Thirty feet tall, breath of fire, teeth of metal. It would swallow up the weak, and spit out the remains. It had claimed many victims and would many more, probably even before the break of day. Where were the other soldiers? There were none here, most fought in secret just as Gabe was. He would break down these stone walls around him and free himself of his mortal reigns, for this was a cry for freedom and he would fight to the death. All for the love of Corey...

And it was driving him insane.

five

The Season of Rachel

Rachel layed above her sheets, hidden within the thick fog of darkness. Her arm was draped across her sunken belly, the other above her head. It was the middle of the night, but she couldn't sleep. There was so much about herself that remained undiscovered. She was always defined by the people around her, her extravagant mother, her protective ex-boyfriend. Essentially, they provided her backbone. No More. She was not going to be hiding under their sheltering wings any longer. She had realized that she too had strength. She too had power. This night held so much for Rachel. This was the night she had shed her girlish ideals, and begun to explore the newly emerged woman. She felt more alert than usual, not so much of the physical, but the internal. It was an awakening, a rebirth. This was her initiation into adulthood. Her motivation to stand on her own two legs. A step toward independence. She knew that in less than a month she would be away from everyone she had always loved, torn from her familiar surroundings, and thrust into a new life. It would be good for her, it would give her a chance to get to know herself and start loving herself. Yes, loving herself. That had been her weakness. Precious little Rachel Porter could do no wrong. Couldn't tarnish her glossy image. She had strived for what seemed an eternity to understand the world she occupied. Always feeling of a lesser sort. Careful of what she said, of the company she kept, and of the way she carried herself. She had to be flawless, nothing else would do. Her self-esteem had sunk so low, that she barely stayed above the surface. Always avoiding altercations, the first to apologize, eager to forgive. It didn't matter how she had been treated, good old Rachel would take it.

What she felt for others wasn't so much compassion, but an attempt to be thought of as compassionate. She had projected what she wanted others to see, not who she really was. She had this desire to impress others with her mildness. She wouldn't do that anymore. If she was angry, she would yell. She had a voice, and tonight, she found it. She would take control, gain authority over her life, and create a life of her own, where she is defined by nothing but herself, her true self. No more getting kicked in the teeth, no more silence.

Perhaps she needed to be told to grow up. Maybe she needed to be abandoned to find her own identity. She remembered hearing that sometimes falling apart is the best way to get it together. That's what she would be expected to do, fall apart. Fall to the dirty ground and weep for Gabe. Others would rush to help her. They would have sympathy for that poor innocent child. What drama. Rachel wouldn't crumble. She would stand tall. She would shock them all, and march away with a brand new perspective. It would be a lie to say she wouldn't miss Gabe. She had once called him her soul mate. The love of her life. She was seventeen years old. What did she know about soul mates and everlasting love. Who knew what the next year held for her at New York University. There would be new faces, fresh faces, new atmosphere, new Rachel. It would be there she would partake of many beginnings. She decided that her parting from Gabe was for the best. As they say, if you never close the umbrella, you never feel the rain. Rachel would dance in it.

The next afternoon, Corey, Angie, and Rachel sat beneath the Oak tree on the front lawn of the high school. Rachel leaned against the massive trunk. She shredded a blade of grass in her fingers. She looked different. It was difficult for her friends to determine an exact change, but she was not the same. Her hair was pulled back in a barrette. She wore a thin, white shirt with a sloping V-neck. She wasn't dressed nearly as modest as she used to. She seemed to have spent a bit more time on her appearance.

Corey was propped up on his elbows, his knees lifted from the ground. His dark mane fell over his back, and only offered slight traces of burgundy streaks. He looked up through the towering canopy of leaves crowning the stretching graceful branches, while Angie sat Indian style, observing all of the kids walking across the freshly mowed grounds.

"I'll miss you guys... after I'm gone. This has been the best time of my life," Angie admitted. Corey twisted his neck around, looking directly at her, "It's not over yet, Angie."

"We'll all come back" Rachel leaned forward, "It won't be the same though, we'll all be different people. Have different lives, made new friends. Things change so easily," She stated somberly, as if having already pondered the subject. None of them replied. The broken rays of the sun slid across the ground, dancing around them.

Angie shrugged her shoulder, "That doesn't mean we have to forget. I've never really had friends before, and to someone whose gone without, every friendship is a treasure. Nothing changes that, not distance or time." She added.

Rachel grinned at her. She was right. Too many friendships had succumbed to circumstance. There was no reason for any of them to forget. "Where are you going to college? Rachel asked.

"Ohio State, I'm going to be a psychologist. I'm a pro at giving advice; I just never practice what I preach. Common sense. What about you? "

"NYU. I'm planning on being a doctor. A pediatrician. It's my father's idea. He says I have to do something worthwhile. I wanted to be a pianist, but I guess it's unrealistic. I suppose doctors make good money. What about you Corey, where are you going?" Rachel nudged his arm with her foot.

"I'm going back home to San Francisco. I was thinking about Creative writing, maybe fine arts, something simple. I just want to be home again," Corey confessed, swinging around to face them.

Thomas appeared, standing above them. None of them had noticed him approaching and Rachel and Angie seemed surprised by his sudden presence. "Corey, can I speak with you for a second, please," He requested uncomfortably.

Corey stood up, brushing off grass from his slacks.

Angie and Rachel looked at one another quizzically, eyes wide. They widened further when Thomas took Corey by the hand and led him away. Immediately, the girls huddled, still staring.

Corey glanced down at his hand hidden beneath Thomas's, "What's going on?"

Thomas stopped beside the water fountain, he spun, looking directly into Corey's almond eyes, "I thought about you last night." He began.

Corey eyes darted back and forth. Was this a joke?

Thomas continued, "I'm not afraid Corey. I want to be like you... I thought... maybe if I told my Dad, you might see me differently, not as ridiculous."

"I don't see you as ridiculous," He wanted to support him, but at the same time he worried for him. "I just don't think it's- maybe now isn't an appropriate-

Thomas detected Corey's concern. "I need to do this, Corey. It's like you said, I can't hide forever and I can't be a coward. I have to live my own life."

"Yeah, great Thomas, I mean, that's wonderful, but your Dad.... You said before, anything can set him off. Maybe you should think about this. Don't do something you're not ready to do," Corey bargained.

Gabe rushed from the school. He would walk right up to Corey and tell him who he was. He would come clean and tell him that it was he who had been his nighttime lover. He had waited for this time all day. This would alter his entire life, he knew that, but it would be worth it. He scanned the school yard and saw Rachel and Angie. They were staring at something. Gabe followed their eye-line. Corey and Thomas. Corey and Thomas? It's okay, he would strut right up between them and ask for a moment alone with him. Gabe took a breath, stuck out his chest, and started toward them.

Thomas took Corey's arms into his hands, "I know that you're proud of who you are... I've never been. I want to be. But it's just that no one has ever come along that made me feel like I wasn't alone in this."

"You're not alone. I'll help you, I'll do what I can but this is a very bold decision, why would you do this now?" Corey interrogated.

Thomas glanced down at his feet, "Someone inspired me."

Corey was without words. He was grinning at Thomas, who seemed to shy to say anything else. Corey stepped close to him and hugged him, "You'll be okay," he whispered into his ear and then moved back, still beaming from the flattery.

Gabe stood in horror. No. No. No. He clenched his teeth so hard they began to ache. He watched as Thomas walked away from Corey. What would he say to him now? Were they a couple? How could this happen, right when he was going to profess his love? He could still go to him. Maybe he would strike up a conversation. Maybe he would find that Thomas was just practicing the Heimlich maneuver. Gabe started toward Corey once again. He held his breath for a moment, his throat drying. Finally he stood right beside him, as he sat on the wall of the spouting water fountain. He had to think of what to say.

Corey's stomach was in a knot. He gazed across the yard. He felt a bit strange. Thomas was really going to tell his Father, he was incredibly brave to make such a move. Was this his fault? Had he given some signal he wasn't aware of? Sent some message? He liked Thomas very much, but he felt somewhat responsible for his sudden interest in coming out. It would be great if Thomas wound up happy and safe, but what if something else happened? Maybe Corey was being a bit extreme. It's not like his Dad would kill him. He didn't want Thomas to do this for him. Corey couldn't carry that burden.

He wished he could stop feeling so awkward around Thomas. He wished he'd stop wishing that Thomas would just grab him and kiss him. That was never going to happen, and he had to face that. Unfortunately Thomas was invading him. The way he penetrated him with his smoky gray eyes that churned like the clouds at dawn. Plus, he was smart, and very sexy. Kind of like James Dean. Oh, how Corey loved James Dean. HE HAD TO STOP OBSESSING!

"Hey." A voice from out of the blue greeted.

Stunned, Corey jumped back losing his balance, tipping backward into the pool below the fountain.

Gabe grabbed his arm apologetically, pulling him from the shallow water. "Oh God! Oh, No! I'm so sorry!"

"Look at me, I'm all wet," Corey huffed, shaking his arms, and wiping the droplets from his face.

Gabe looked awestruck, this wasn't happening how he planned. He removed his flannel shirt and handed it to Corey, "Here, dry off with this, I'm so sorry," he repeated.

Cory buried his face in Gabe's shirt, "You scared me to death, you should give some kind of warning when you sneak up on-" He looked up into Gabe's face and their eyes locked, "...Peeeopllle." He forced breathlessly.

"I shouldn't have said anything, forgive me. I just..." Gabe couldn't finish. Being so close made him soar. He wanted to touch him.

"It's okay, I- I'm just clumsy. I didn't mean to snap like that," Corey said regretfully. "I know you, you're in my homeroom," Corey added.

Gabe could feel his tongue swelling. "That's right. N-Nice to meet you," he stammered, holding out his hand for the taking. Corey didn't notice, he simply pushed the wrinkled shirt into Gabe's outstretched hand. "Thanks, for the shirt I mean." Corey turned and started toward the tree.

"You're Corey, right?" Gabe jumped, refusing to lose him.

Corey paused and spun to face him once more, "Right." He swept back the hair that had blown into his face and then began away again.

Corey made his way back into the shade. He plopped down on the ground before Rachel and Angie, who watched him with great anticipation. Corey gazed at the girls, examining their glib faces. "What? I fell in the water." He balked, knowing beforehand what they were speculating, and it wasn't his wet clothes.

Angie placed her hand over her mouth, pretending to wipe away something that wasn't there, "Is there something that you want to tell us?"

"Thomas is pretty hot, Corey," Rachel remarked.

Corey ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, acting as if he was offended, but unable to withhold his own telltale grin. It was obvious that he was just as amused.

"You never told us you were dating Thomas. I didn't even realize you two knew each other," Angie toyed playfully.

Corey lay back onto the grass, staring up at the swaying branches, "We're not dating! We're just friends. That's it. He has absolutely no attraction to me whatsoever. He already made that clear. It's not plausible. I like him, don't get me wrong, he's sweet and handsome... but..." The thoughts in his mind became louder than his voice. There was still one guy. The one he'd swore never to speak of, or think about again.

"BUT WHAT?" Angie and Rachel hollered in unison.

Corey exhaled through his mouth, "But I can't stop thinking of Chris." Okay, this was it; he knew each of his friends would explode in fury. They surpassed his expectation.

The muscles in Rachel's face tightened. She grabbed her head and fell backward coming shoulder to shoulder with Corey. "What are you thinking? God, Corey! What does he do for you? What did he do for you? He's a voice! That's it! A voice!

"I know, I know. It's crazy. I should just wipe him from my memory. But, it's not that easy. It's just not that easy," Corey admitted shamefully.

On her hands and knees, Angie crawled over to them and lay beside Rachel. "He's right, you know. It's not easy to just... turn off your feelings. Anyone who's ever been in love knows it's like a slap in the face, the stinging goes away fast, but the red mark lingers."

"It always seems to happen to me, people waltz into my life, grab my attention, then in the blink of an eye, they're gone, or I repulse them and they enjoy watching me squirm. I can't find a happy medium here." Corey assessed.

Rachel pulled her hair out from beneath her and it fanned across the ground, crowning her like a shimmering brown halo. "Corey, the guy was ten feet from you and he wouldn't meet you. If anything, that should be incentive enough to forget him."

Corey began to protest, "He wasn't ten feet away from me. I would've been able to see-"

"He was close enough that you heard him call your name. It doesn't matter if he was ten feet, or ten blocks away. He refused to take it any further," Rachel argued, "Get the hint!"

"He said he has issues with his life, and I can't even imagine how scary it must be for a gay male to make himself known to people in a place like this. I mean, my God, and I always believed those hyper-dramatic small town coming out stories were exaggerated, that the fear was always self-imposed... You could lose everything in the snap of a finger, everything you love and care about could be gone," his hands came together at his chest. "It was never real to me before."

"No wonder half the world is in therapy." Angie stated as she turned toward him, committing to memory that fair profile, the way the sun fell in shapes across his face. "If you really care about him, then wait for him," she was trying to be unbiased. She couldn't let her own feelings interfere.

Rachel inspected the shapes in the cumulus clouds above which were radiant against the bright blue backdrop of sky, "It's all about low self-esteem. Look at us you guys!" She scratched her forehead, half out of frustration, "Here we are, three attractive people and we're deliberating on whether one of us should get into a phone relationship. Is this what we've become? Is this what you're willing to settle for? A phone boyfriend? Is that what you want?"

Corey sat up feverishly, thrusting his hands back over his head and down to the back of his neck, "No. No, I don't! I want passion and romance and heat and fireworks. I want the fairy tale. I want it all!"

Rachel sat up with him, "You deserve that. We all do. Let's not settle for anything else."

Angie interjected; "Let's not get to proud here you guys. I know if someone liked me, admired me from afar, then it would certify to me that their interests were pure. Not based on anything materialistic or on social status. If Chris didn't really like you, he wouldn't have anything to lose. He wouldn't be so afraid. The choice would be easy."

Corey found himself surprised by her candor. He listened with a keen ear as she continued.

"For us to blast the guy for feeling so strongly for you that he can't tolerate the idea of losing you is hypocritical. I'm not on Chris's side; I know he's done some shitty things. I also know he's torn between what's right and what's right. To be with you would be right, but circumstances beyond his control keep you apart. To honor his family and respect the values they have instilled, that's right too." Angie stopped; there was an irony in how it all related to her. How she loved Corey but knew she could never tell him because it could potentially destroy their friendship and she wouldn't risk it. No matter how she needed him, no matter how potent her desire to confess, he was who he was and it would be wrong for her to voice her emotions knowing the prospect was impossible.

Perhaps, this was good for her. She could have his companionship while, maybe inside harmlessly entertain the fantasy of what would never be. The idea comforted her because as long as he didn't know he could never reject her. If it ever escaped the confines of her fantasy she knew it would hurt them both. He would hurt for breaking her heart; she would hurt for ruining this friendship. She and Chris were the same. They both loved someone they couldn't be without, and if the secret or mystery kept him around, like a rose under glass, they would protect that, never to compromise the poetic sentiment they held so dear.

Gabe stood in front of the bathroom mirror straightening his tie. He didn't need to shave; he hadn't the slightest trace of a whisker. Tonight was his graduation party. The Mayor would be there. His entire family would be there. His friends from the football team, his coach, the entire church congregation, a reporter from the Bugle. They would all be there for him. To celebrate him. It felt like he swallowed a bowling ball. How did he get here? He should be excited; he should be smiling, anxious to get to the church. To a certain extent, he was. He was proud of his accomplishments and was flattered that so many people had paid attention. He was grateful for the support, but he also understood what this all meant. He would be monitored constantly.

While his successes would prompt the entire town to parade down Main Street, his failures would cause an opposite, but equally extreme reaction. They would all be let down and it would hang on his shoulders like a necklace of cement blocks. His life would be under scrutiny, and his untainted love for football would transform into a competition where the prize was his dignity. He had found himself under a microscope, and everyone was watching and waiting for him to do something magnificent.

Gabe didn't want this. He didn't want strangers to impose grand expectations for him to meet. He didn't want to have to please the entire village of Sadie, Connecticut. He wasn't capable of that. Gabe wanted to live for himself, he wanted to play the game for his own reasons, win or lose, and still walk away with his pride. He could remember a few years back when Mark Wilson had won a major wrestling competition. He signed autographs in town. The previous Mayor erected a sign at the city limits that boasted the fact that Mark had lived here. His name was on the lips of every citizen in Sadie. Everyone loved Mark Wilson. There were T-shirts bearing his likeness, bus trips to his state matches and a fan club was even created. Then, somewhere in Texas, Mark was arrested for drug possession. He went into rehab, admitted he was addicted to cocaine, and led a drug resistance campaign in New York. Nevertheless, the boastful sign at the city limits came down. The fan club closed. The village bus trips halted, and many of the pictures he autographed were thrown away.

Now, six years later, even the mere mention of Mark's name is met with a vicious glare, or a cruel joke. Mark never returned to Sadie. Humiliated, his family moved to Virginia and left their ostracizing community behind. Pretty much the same with the Caudwell's. The smallest insufficiency creates havoc amongst these people. No matter how false or obscure the offense, you are no longer welcome here. Was this what he would become? One of them? Or was he on the opposite end; Would he shame his family and be cast out?

Corey graced his thoughts. To take his hand and walk down the street, perfection. To put his arm around him in public... Bliss. But Gabe would be stripped of his respect, and even worse, so would his Father. He could hear it all now. How can a disciple of God have a gay son? What a tragedy. Why did his Father not save him, or cure him of this disease? Gabe knew the consequences would be devastating. But what about him? He could take Corey and leave Sadie, never to look back. But he couldn't leave his family behind as easily. Where did all this confusion end? He had almost told Corey who he was this afternoon. If he had, if he just jumped in blindly, forgotten any consequence or aftermath, they could be together at this very moment, on this night. But Gabe didn't. Here he stood, alone in his bathroom, torn between his fixation with Corey, and his love for his family. The rest of Sadie could kiss his ass, he didn't care what they thought of him, but his Father did. His Father was a pillar of the community, and held in very high regard. Who was Gabe to take all of that away from him? How could he? Maybe he should just forget about Corey and return to Rachel. Rachel really loved him. He could resume his normal life without complication and Corey would never know who his secret caller had been. Everything would be left unharmed. No one would get hurt. That's the way it would've been anyway, if Corey had never come to Harrington.

Mr. Cavanaugh appeared framed in the bathroom doorway, "Okay, Son. This is it; the whole town is waiting for you. You are the man of the hour."

Gabe looked at him blankly as his Father stepped up beside him, studying their reflection in the mirror, grinning with approval. "I've waited for this day my entire life. I get to watch my son become a man."

They turned, catching each other's eyes. "I watched this beautiful, screaming baby come into this world. When you smiled for the first time, laughed out loud. When I held your hands and you took that first step, I was there, and I am so proud to have had you bless my life, my son." His Father held back his tears and adjusted Gabe's tie, "And I love you."

Gabe wrapped his arms around his Dad and held him tight. "I love you too, Dad."

Martin pulled away, still holding onto Gabe's shoulders, his eyes glistening. Then he walked away.

Gabe stood in silence. Would he be as proud if he knew of his adoration for Corey? Gabe felt his chin tighten. He looked back to the mirror, at that image of himself. The face was the same, but man beneath was not. Who was he?

The basement of the Episcopal Church was buzzing. Long folding tables were pushed together and decorated with purple and white flower arrangements. The brick walls had been adorned with balloons and crate paper. A banner hung from the ceiling reading: "Happy Graduation Gabe. We love you!" Music played from a boom box in the corner. Some dreary country tune. His brother must've brought it, because his brother was the only country music fan in the family. Gabe hated country music. It was tolerable however, for it was impossible to hear over the large chattering crowd.

Gabe sat alone. He had been there for hours and was so tired of saying "Thank you," he may never say it again. The crowd had finally started to diminish. Gabe pushed his plate of white cake away. He didn't have an appetite.

A large woman came up behind him and kissed him on the cheek, "Congratulations Gabe, honey. We'll be watching you!" She spouted.

Gabe grinned, "Thank you," he muttered graciously as the woman's husband patted Gabe on the shoulder, then shook his hand roughly through Gabe's hair, "Go get'um tiger. We're rootin' for ya!" The man shouted.

"Thank you."

The couple walked on, and Gabe couldn't help but wonder who in the hell they were. He had never seen them before. Must be new members of the church. Unlikely, considering their church was only accustomed to losing members, not gaining them.

A lady in a red pants suite holding a clip board appeared on the other side of his table. She was rather mousy and quite unpolished. Her glasses hung way down, resting on the tip of her bulbous nose. Gabe wondered how she could breathe.

"Y-y-you you have a minute?" She stuttered.

"Sure," he replied kindly.

She pulled out the metal chair and sat down. It wasn't until then that Gabe recognized her as Sophie, the reporter from the bugle. She must have interviewed him a dozen times over the last three years.

"It's nice to see you again." She had a timid, lady-like voice. Soft and tender.

"You too, Sophie."

Sophie placed her board on the table, "This is like a milestone for you. I know it is for me, I watched you take the team to finals a few years ago, then last year I covered your game in Hartford when you won the championship with the final touchdown. Then you got the scholarship, and I was at the ceremony. I've been right there. Now you're going off to Harvard, how does it feel?" She was enamored by him, sort of behaving like a fan instead of a professional reporter.

Gabe placed his hand under his chin. The music was audible now. Some lonely southerner twanging about his tragedies. He listened to every chord, every syllable. How depressing. He glanced across the room at his father who shook hands with the guests as they left. His Brother and Kayla slow danced on the floor. His sister and her husband sat huddled close together, whispering to each other. They were all so happy. Why couldn't that be him?

"Gabe?" The reporter repeated, vying for his attention.

Gabe looked at her distressed, "It feels... humbling," he offered.

Sophie wrote down his answer, "Okay. Tell me, do you like to be on top, or on bottom? Ever dress in women's clothes?" She raised from her chair, "What's it like to have the eyes of everyone alive watching you, waiting for you to fuck up so they can laugh at you." Her voice deepened and slowed like a dying record. "Wouldn't they die if they knew that their beloved football hero isn't really anything but a big, faaaat faaaairy?" The reporter roared. She looked down upon him as fire blazed in her black pupils. She threw her arms into the air as flames erupted in her palms. Her laughter was demonic, "Now I'll tell the entire world that you're a hooomooo. HA! HA! HA! HA!." A slimy reptilian tongue slid about a foot out of her mouth as she lunged at him.

"Gabe?" The reporter summoned curiously. Gabe jumped out of his daydream. "Yes?"

Sophie looked at him strangely, "Are you okay?" She queried, pushing up her coke bottle glasses.

"Fine," He retorted, "Just dandy."

"Alrighty!" She chirped, "Concerning Football, what is your drive? Money? Fame? What makes you so good?" She continued, spitting a stray strand of spiral hair from the corner of her lips.

"I love the game. I'm not interested in the money, or the fame. I'm doing it because I have this need to play. Something I was born with. I have to play, and be true to myself. I play for me, not to win, not for the people watching, or the team even. I play, and I win because it's in my heart and I follow that," Gabe said sincerely, his eyes probing her.

"Grrrrreat!" Sophie wrote quickly, biting the tip of her tongue, her lips puckered around it. Gabe's brother, Chris pulled out a chair and sat beside Chris. He glanced at the reporter, "You wanted to talk to me?" he inquired. "I'm his brother."

Sophie smacked her hand on the table and wrinkled her nose smiling, she let her head fall forward, the flung it back, releasing a quiet snort. She was laughing a laugh that made anyone watching a bit embarrassed for her. "I should've known! You two look alike, but I couldn't find you earlier. I interviewed your Mom and she pointed you out to me, but then I got shuffled in the crowd, and you know...." She quipped.

At least she was having a good time. Gabe and Christopher looked at each other amused, holding back laughter of their own.

Sophie began clicking her pen against the surface of the table, "How do you feel having your little brother become famous?"

"He's not famous. He'll never be famous to me. He's my kid brother. He's the runt that used to sneak into my room and steal my stuff. No matter what, this is my brother," Christopher put his arm around Gabe, "And I'm proud of him, and I love him a lot."

Gabe pushed air through his nostrils smiling, "Liar," he teased. Chris held his finger to his chin as if in thought, "Oh, okay, I love him just a little." Christopher and Gabe laughed shortly.

Joy wandered up and sat on the other side of Gabe, "What am I missing?" She snickered, hating to be left out. Joy had put on her best dress for this party. She loved to dress in flowing, frilly sun dresses, even when it was cold. She had hair the same color as Gabe and Chris. Just by looking, you knew they were created from the same gene pool. They were a lovely trio.

"This is my sister, Joy." Gabe announced to the reporter, "This is the lady from the Bugle. She's interviewing us," he informed.

Joy held her hand to her chest, toying with her golden crucifix, "Am I going to be in the paper?"

"She wants to know what it's like to have me as a brother," Gabe taunted.

"This guy's a pain! Both of them!" She bellowed sarcastically, placing her hand under his chin and squeezing gently, "These guys tormented me growing up. But we had a great childhood, and we've always been close. I support Gabe in whatever he does, because I know both of my brothers would do the same for me. I'm glad to see Gabe doing something he adores, and the whole family is with him all the way." Joy discreetly took his hand beneath the table, holding it close to her. They grinned at each other lovingly.

Mr. Cavanaugh yelled from across the room as he set up a tripod and camera. "Okay kids, look over here!"

Sophie jumped out of the way.

Joy rolled her eyes, "Daddy you've taken a hundred pictures already!"

Chris sighed as he moved closer to Gabe, "I can't believe you have any film left, Pop!" He yelled.

Mr. Cavanaugh glared at his children from behind the lens, "Now, you all hush up, this is for the mantle."

Gabe watched as his father set the timer on the camera, then rushed behind his children, "Get over here Mary, hurry!" he yelled to his wife, who had set up home at the cake table.

"I have my mouth full!" She objected through a huge clump of food.

"It's a Family picture Mom, Come on!" Chris prompted.

"Hurry and swallow!" Joy insisted as she straightened her lace collar, then fluffed her loose curls that hung over her left breast.

Mrs. Cavanaugh rushed across the room and into her husband's arms.

He pulled her close, and held his hand on Gabe's shoulder. "Smile kids. I mean smile too, Christopher, don't smirk," Dad instructed as Mom tapped Joy on the shoulder, "Sit up straight, dear."

Chris smiled widely as he leaned into Gabe, "What I don't do for you," He cracked in false contempt. Gabe smiled even wider. They all remained perfectly still waiting for the flash. Joy spoke through her teeth, still frozen in form, "It's not flashing, Daddy."

"I can see that Joy," Dad mumbled stiffly, "It will, keep smiling pretty."

The family waited awhile longer. "Maybe you didn't do it right, Dad," Chris said, trying not to move his mouth from its cemented position.

A moment longer.

"HELL'S BELLS!" Mr. Cavanaugh exclaimed with defeat as he marched from the frame. At the same time, everyone let out a gasp of air and slouched.

FLASH!

They all looked directly at the camera. "Oh no! I had my mouth open," Joy screeched.

Mr. Cavanaugh reset the timer, "Okay, Now I got it," He cheered as he started back toward his clan.

FLASH! It took another photo as Martin jogged toward them, he immediately spun and jogged back to the contraption.

Mary sighed, "You Father will never make it in the new age."

"Do you need help Dad?" Christopher offered irritated.

"I can get it, just stay still and smile big." Mr. Cavanaugh demanded. He set the timer one last time and raced behind his children. "Okay kids, look at the camera."

FLASH!

The new portrait would hang above the fireplace with the others for generations to come.

After all the decorations had come down, the Cavanaugh tribe left the church, saying their good-bye's in the empty parking lot. Joy gave Gabe a kiss on the cheek and embraced him, "I hope you like the microwave. I know you hate to cook; I thought it might make college a little easier." Gabe saw she was crying but trying to hide it, though the mascara trails were a dead giveaway. He wiped her cheek gently, "I love my microwave."

"You know, it's so crazy, Gabe. You're not even gone yet... and it's like I'm already missing you. I feel like I'm losing my little brother. This family has never been apart, never. Now you're leaving us all..." She brushed the tip of her nose with the back of her wrist and quickly gathered herself. "But you're going to be happy, and you're going to have a great time, and you'll write every week at least twice."

Gabe looked down at his dress shoes, "I promise," he said quietly.

Joy got into her car and Gabe closed the door for her. His parents stood at their Van as Joy pulled away.

"Come on son, let's get home before it rains," His Father beckoned from across the deserted lot.

"I'll walk. It's cool tonight. I need the air," he returned.

He started off the parking lot and walked around to the front of the church. He looked up to the steeple. He would listen every time those bells chimed until the day he left, that way he would never forget the way they sounded. He began down the sidewalk, kicking a loose rock in front of him, his hands planted deep in his pockets. He could smell the impending rain. It always rained in May, he liked that. He would listen to the sound of it hitting his window, as if it were lulling him. He was so lucky to have a family that cared so much for each other. The ties that bound them were strong, impenetrable. He knew this much was true, his family loved him, they always had, they always would.

Gabe looked around the deserted village. How peaceful and welcoming it appeared. So undisturbed. So deceiving. No sound, no movement. Soon the rain would come off the ocean and pelt the warm ground, and the clouds would descend casting a thick morning fog over sleepy town of Sadie. Porch lights left on from the night before would go off. People in their robes would wander out onto their lawn to fetch the Bugle. And once again, like clockwork, it would all come alive and another day would be born.

It wasn't but another block before Gabe found himself standing in front of Rachel's house. It almost seemed that he had subconsciously decided to go there. The sight of it soothed him, even more so when he thought of her inside. Every window was dark, and he knew that if he were to knock he would wake her parents. He couldn't stand not seeing her. He walked up onto the lawn to the rose trellis that lead up to her window above the roof of the porch. Without a second thought, he began to climb. An occasional thorn from the bright red blossoms would scratch his flesh, or snag his jacket, but he persevered.

Finally, he reached the porch roof, stabilized his foot on the shingles and then leapt to safety. He leaned forward as he reached for her window sill. Looking inside and saw her sleeping soundly. She was so lovely. Her sheet draped over her body as she lay on her side, her hands nestled under her neck. The curves of her body, the slope of her shoulders, the valley of her waist, then the rising of her thigh, beautiful. A woman's body, so sensual. He had never looked upon her like this before.

How could he have hurt her as he had? Seeing her was staring directly into the face of his own unfathomable guilt. She was so precious, so unassuming, and he knew that his actions had likely scorched her to the core. She was so vulnerable to him, so trusting, and he had taken it for granted. For this alone, he hated himself. No apology would ever suffice, nothing he could say to her would offer redemption. Even, should she forgive him, he would find her selflessness only cause his self-hatred to intensify. He did not deserve her.

The streetlight in front of her house had cast an outline of the window across her queen size poster bed. He could not recall ever seeing another girl that fascinated him the way Rachel did. She was the only girl he had ever truly loved, the only one that engaged him as she had. There would never be another Rachel Porter in his life. For, in all his years, never had he felt for another woman what he felt for her. Never had he desired to protect someone as he did Rachel. It had always been his duty to be her rock, her invariable Superman. They had been companions so long that they were practically the same soul.

Gabe pushed the glass panes open and crawled into her bedroom, careful not to wake her. Once in, he closed the window and crept over to her bedside, where he loomed above her. He had never seen her sleep before. She looked like a princess from a storybook. Sleeping Beauty maybe. He knelt down beside her and pushed her hair back.

He kissed her eyelids and then gazed at her affectionately. Rachel churned and her eyelids began to flutter. She stretched her hand over her body, and focused on the dark figure directly before her. She gasped, slinging her arm back and launched her fist at him with such force that the impact to Gabe's face sent him hurdling across the room. Panicked, Rachel kicked her sheet off and jumped toward her bedroom door.

"Rachel!" Gabe called painfully from the floor.

Rachel stopped as she held the doorknob in her hand. Though she faced the opposite way she knew that voice. She closed her eyes hard, believing she was still dreaming.

Gabe managed to his feet, "D-Don't go," he pleaded.

She turned to him with the elegance and grace of the storm that would soon befall them. "What are you doing here?"

Gabe felt her cold eyes on him, "I needed to see you..."

He prayed she wouldn't throw him out. He couldn't bear it if she hated him. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry for hurting you. Please Rachel, don't let me go."

She wanted to cry, to run into his arm and hold him the way she used to. That would have been her reaction normally, but she wasn't about to fall victim to her old tactics. "You think you can break into my house, come into my room and stand there expecting me to take you back? You were cruel, Gabe, and then you left me without even giving me the courtesy of an explanation. It was only then that I understood that despite six years of unconditional love and trust, I hadn't even begun to know you, and frankly I don't think I want to... not anymore."

Gabe was overwhelmed with shock. This was not his docile Rachel. She had changed. He took a single step toward her, "I made a mistake. Like every other human out there I make mistakes. I can't go back and change it, if I could I'd do it, but I can't. I'm not anything more than human. Please don't punish me for that. I know that I love you... and I don't want to lose what we had... have...."

Rachel's breathing grew heavy. Had she expected him to be perfect? He had never scorned her the way he had in the school yard. He had always been perfect in her eyes; he could never do any wrong. He was right, she had set her expectations so high that the second he tarnished her mental image, she punished him for it. He was apologizing, wasn't that enough? He knew he was wrong, and he came to her tonight to say it. She would be just as guilty if she rejected him for one incident. Gabe was a good man. He had good intentions and valuable morals, that's what she loved about him. He loved her and she felt that every time he was near. He made her feel secure.

Sure, that was great, but she couldn't rely on that any longer, despite the fact that she wanted to. She could take him back, and continue loving him, but she would stand on her own and not expect him to carry her as she had before.

Rachel moved toward him, "Did I hurt you?" she asked, referring to his swelling cheek bone.

Gabe let out a hushed laugh, "No, I'm okay, but that's one hell of a left hook."

Rachel touched his face, drawing out the pain, "I didn't know it was you," she explained.

Gabe leaned down to her, meeting her lips with a delicate kiss. He took her face into his hands, more aggressively now, and slid his tongue into her mouth. They had never kissed each other this way, and it made him feel closer to her. This was the way it should be. He secretly wished that his reunion with his longtime girlfriend would diminish his desires for Corey. Rachel would take away his uncertainty. She would make him love her the way she deserved. This night would set him right again. He wouldn't think of Corey anymore.

He stopped, holding his head to hers, "I missed you," he whispered.

She stared into his face, he was so striking, "I missed you, too." It was silent for a moment, and to fill it, they each allowed an awkward giggle. Then, they embraced and moved backward toward the bed. Gabe reached under her nightshirt and ran the back of his fingers across her firm stomach.

"Are we going to..." Rachel stammered, still caught up in his touch. He had never touched her this way, but she relished it.

"Do you want to?" Gabe replied, inches from her lips. Neither of them had ever seriously pondered this. They knew the facts of life and often wondered about sex, but this was the real thing. This was the ultimate test. The opportunity to prove to himself that the love he felt for Rachel surpassed his obsession with Corey.

Rachel could feel Gabe trembling, "I'm afraid," she confessed.

Gabe looked back and forth into her eyes; she was so focused on him. "Do you want me to stop?"

She felt his heat breath against her mouth, his fingers loosely wrapped around her breast, "No..." Rachel reached down and pulled her shirt over her head, dropping it onto the carpet.

Gabe looked at her with adoration and then pulled off his own shirt. It dangled in his fingers for a moment and fell alongside hers. Rachel touched his body, moving the tips of her fingers over his defined chest as he caressed her face. Gabe got down on his knees and gradually pulled down her panties. She stepped out of them as Gabe eased his hand along the inside of her thigh, brushing against her pubic hair. He could feel her silky wetness against his skin. He rose up and unbuttoned his pants as she placed her fingers inside the waist and pulled them down around his ankles where he wrestled his feet out of them and kicked them away. Rachel touched the protruding bulge in his briefs and it throbbed against her palm. She moved up and met Gabe's face. She felt her insides charge with fire. They took each other and fell onto the bed, their bodies pressed firmly against each other. She pushed at the elastic of Gabe's underwear. He sat up, straddling her prone body, moving to the side to pull them off. His penis was fully erect as he positioned himself on top of her. Rachel could feel it move against her. He kissed her neck as she clutched his back, closing her eyes.

This was it. She was about to offer him the most precious gift she could. There was no going back now. She felt him slowly enter her, just a bit at first, then more with each thrust. She grasped the head board and arched her back, trying not to make a sound. It hurt at first, and then as he pushed himself deeper inside of her, she found the pain giving way to pleasure. They acknowledged one another with a passionate kiss, this one more primal than before. She bite his bottom lip gently as she fell back to her pillow. She arched her neck, her muscles tightening independent of her will, as Gabe watched her. Sweat beaded upon their skin, cooled only by the air from the open window. Their flesh ran over each other in gentle, undulating motions, like a waterfall against a stone.

Pictures blasted on the surface of Gabe's mind. Corey. He saw him weeping through his window. No. No. He tried to exile him from his thoughts, but seeing Corey excited him even more. He let out a muffled cry of ecstasy, half weeping from his betrayal. "Get out of my head..." It was Rachel he loved. Rachel. It had always been her. He said her name aloud, hoping the sound of it would scare away the thoughts of Corey.

Before the break of dawn Gabe slipped out of Rachel's bed. After kissing her lightly he slipped on his clothes and retreated through the window. The walk home was refreshing. The aftermath of the storm was now reduced to a simple, cool drizzle. Fog had started to lay on the streets and sidewalks. Rays of light from the street lamps broke through the gaps in the trees above, like when the sun, though hidden by the clouds, finds holes to shed its endearing warmth on the Earth below.

He reached the park on the corner of Harrington and cut through, giving the merry-go-round a heave as he passed. When he reached the other side of the park and turned it still went in circles. He noticed the puddles that had collected on the pavement and watched the reflections of the houses that appeared on an upside down world as he passed. The night had grown old, and there wasn't even the most modest sign of life on this street.

He reached the driveway of his house and stopped. He turned over his shoulder and looked up to Corey's dark window across the street. He felt criminal, as if he'd betrayed him in some fashion. He would readily admit he loved Rachel, but there was also Corey. The only man he'd ever felt such an immense attraction toward. Corey and Rachel were at opposite ends of the spectrum, as was his desire for each of them. He should freely and openly confess loving Corey, but for him it wasn't so easy, not because it wasn't right, but because Gabe was the unintentional victim of society. The product of imposed beliefs. Or was that a crock? He wasn't a victim of anything. Nothing had been imposed on him that he hadn't accepted. No beliefs, nothing. The only real thing holding him back from walking over there right now was himself; the fear that he still battled, and the respect of his family. Surely they would still hold him in high regard if he loved a man. They had supported him through everything else. Why would they desert him now? This fear was manifested from ignorance, and he knew that. He also knew that loving Corey would add a new dimension to his life, one not so pleasant. He would face hate and bigotry, discrimination and degradation. So many obstacles to overcome. Gay people still weren't even allowed to marry or join a government service. He had heard of people being murdered just for being homosexual. This was Corey's life. He had to wake to this every day. The fact there were so many people in the world, who didn't even know him, yet harbored such hatred toward him, all because of his sexuality. How strong and brave he must be.

That was why Gabe loved him. In spite of the hurdles, Corey remained proud of who he was. Never questioned it, or indicated shame, he just held his head high and made his way. What courage. Now, this had become Gabe's life. He couldn't deny his feelings for Corey. He wouldn't. That would be lying to himself as if he were ashamed. He couldn't be ruled by his fear any longer. He was discovering who he was and just what he was capable of. He loved Rachel, he utterly adored her, but Corey haunted him. He thought of Corey every second of every day. He fantasized about making love to him. He even thought of him while with Rachel. How despicable. How could he do that to her? No. No. He loved her. They shared something special now. Was it possible? Did he love a woman and a man? He was fortunate enough to have been blessed with the best products of each gender. The beautiful, precious and sincere Rachel, and the captivating, sweet and honest Corey. They were both so alike, Corey and Rachel. Both of them toted many of the same, rare attributes. Sexually, he was more excited by Corey, but he wondered if that wasn't only because it was taboo. Like a book that had never been read, one he wasn't even supposed to open. He had felt the same way about Rachel, only, with her, now he knew. He knew he liked it. He enjoyed being with her. Loving her that way. Would he feel equally aroused with Corey when it came to the act?

The events of the previous night had invited more questions that it answered. Perhaps they would unravel with time, answering themselves. In the meantime, he was torn between his loyalty to the woman with whom he imagined himself marrying, pledged to protect for all time, and the man whom he found himself enslaved to. Where did he belong? What was right?

Gabe walked over to the towering Maple tree in the center of the yard. A tire swung from a rope tied around one of the high branches. This had been the Cavanaugh clan's childhood swing. Gabe jumped up on top of the tire, wrapping his thick legs around the rope. He rocked back and forth, the wind rushing against him. He eyed Corey's dark window. How he longed for him. Just to touch his face, smell his hair. Gabe couldn't forbid himself to love that creature that slept up there. That unique soul that he desired so intensely. How could anyone not love him?

Tomorrow he would tell Corey the truth. He would touch him for the first time in the manner he was meant to. Is it possible to be so strongly devoted to one man and one woman? It was certainly not morally correct, even Gabe understood that. How would he ever choose? How could he be expected to? With Rachel he could have a big white wedding and a large family, but with Corey he could have liberation and have one of the most enchanting beings on Earth as his lover. He could even have a family with Corey. Gay couples were adopting children, he had seen it on Dateline, or 20/20 or something.

A life with Rachel could be perfect; what everyone expected it to be. A life with Corey came with sacrifices. Gabe watched the sun begin to peek over Corey's house. It had cast shades of soft reds through the awakening sky. Soon the swing slowed to a gentle cradle. He jumped off and walked up to his porch. Before going inside, he kissed the tips of his fingers, then held his hand out to Corey's window, then slipped inside.

six

Revelations

Thomas sat quietly at the dining room table. He pushed his scrambled eggs around on his plate. His Dad, sitting across from him, ate like a mad scavenger. Like a wild dog attempting to devour his prey before anyone else could get to it.

"What time in your first appointment?" Thomas began, trying to initiate a polite conversation. Mr. Bradford spoke with his mouth full, "Not until one. Old Garry Foster is finally getting a set of dentures. Hasn't had teeth in better than ten years, walked around with his lips stuck half up his damn nose, looked like his face had caved in."

Thomas slid his full plate aside and propped his elbows up on the table. Folding his hands in front of his face, he rested his head on them.

"Why the hell aren't you eating? That's a whole plate there, it's a waste," His Father scolded, staring at his son who was clearly disturbed.

"I'm not hungry."

His Dad's eyes belittled him, "I don't care. Eat what's on your plate. People out there are starving and would kill for a plate of food like that. Eat it and like it, someday you might not be as fortunate."

Thomas shook his head, "I don't want it, Dad."

Mr. Bradford reached over the table and grabbed Thomas's plate, scooping a heaping spoonful of eggs, pushing it toward his son's mouth, "I said you're going to eat!" He commanded angrily as Thomas held his lips shut, holding back his arm.

"Stop it, I said I'm not hungry!" Thomas objected.

His Father dropped the eggs into Thomas's lap as he tried to force him to open his mouth. Thomas pushed away from the table and stood up yelling, "Stop it, Dad. I don't want the God damn eggs!"

Glenn punished him with his glare alone. Then he rose from his chair, "Don't you ever speak to me like that." He picked up Thomas's plate and hurled it at him. Thomas covered his face, blocking its path. It bounced off his upper arm and fell to the hardwood floor. He instantly realized what was about to occur so he began to walk away but his Father pursued him.

As he reached the archway leading into the living room, his Father grabbed his arm and forced him around. His grip was hard and violent, "Where do you think you're going? You get the hell in there and pick up your mess!"

Thomas didn't listen; he jerked out of his Father's restraint and started up the stairs, his Father still following. "You don't obey, Tom! You never listen and that's why you're such a God damn loser. You'll never change. You're just like that bitch Mother of yours. A waste. You're nothing. You're a nothing now, you'll always be nothing!" Glenn screamed.

Thomas turned as he reached the top of the staircase. He saw the insanity that dwelt in his father's burning expression but didn't care, "Don't you ever talk about my Mother. You're just pissed because she got away from you, and someday, I will too."

Glenn laughed in his face. He had a hideous laugh, "Oh yeah? Where you gunna go, Tom? Who would take you? You're a bum." He leaned into him and said it again, his words punctuated by the spittle that flew from his mouth into Thomas's face. "A bum. No one would have anything to do with you if it weren't for me. I am all you have. Without me, you're dead."

Thomas felt his bones quaking; he was on the verge of breaking down right there in front of his Father. He couldn't do that; his Father would savor watching him cry. "That's where you're wrong dad. I don't need anyone. I can take care of myself."

"I hope so, because no one cares about a fuck up like you. Not even your Mother. You're alone." Glenn taunted coldly.

"I'm not alone!" Thomas erupted.

"Really, Thomas? Who else is there? Do they know about the time you overdosed on acid, Huh? How about the fucking seven times I had to get you out of the detention home because you tried to steal a carton of cigarettes, or busted open a pay phone, or got caught smoking dope behind the school... better yet, what about the time you tried to hang yourself from the ceiling fan? That's the best one... couldn't even kill yourself, had to foul that up too," his Father scowled without remorse, a crude smirk planted across his pudgy face. His father always did this. Of all the beatings Thomas had endured, the words hurt the most.

"Go to hell." This was not his Father before him. This was an enemy.

With an open hand, his Father struck him across the face with such power, that Thomas slammed into the railing that lined the wide stairwell. The searing pain shot through his skull like a metal spike. His eyes pulsated as pressure built behind them. He looked up toward his Dad, his vision slightly distorted; he could see silver sparks igniting around him.

Glenn jammed his finger into his son's chest, "Don't ever challenge me, Tom. I'll take back every last breath I gave you, you got that?" With that he turned away from Thomas and walked downstairs.

Thomas didn't move. He felt a rabid hatred for that man, whom he was certain would one day kill him, and think nothing of it.

It was the regular old crowd gathered on the corner of Audrey Shooman's driveway. Always the same four birds, Mary Cavanaugh, Janice Norton, a tall, stick thin lady in her early seventies who liked to dress in long plaid country western style skirts and blouses to match. Lucille Farber, a brutish woman with short gray hair and an ever present scowl on her face. Kay Tuttle was the youngest of them at forty. With waist length, brown hair and a lanky build, she had a long face and an even longer nose so she looked not altogether unlike a horse. This was their regular morning hang-out where they would eagerly share all the dirt from the previous week. They were staring down toward Lola Collier's house where a Postal truck sat in her driveway.

Janice had her hands planted firmly on her bony hips. Her bright red lipstick was slightly smeared, more on her teeth, than on her lips. "It's just tacky, flaunting your affairs in front of the entire neighborhood the way she does. No shame," she proclaimed thoroughly disgusted.

Lucille crossed her arms over her great bosom, "Yesterday it was the delivery man from up to Jack's Pizza. I sat in my kitchen window for over an hour until he finally left... I pity the poor fellows; they don't know what they're getting into."

"She probably has a good cover. She acts all innocent, they'd never know they were in the presence of a cold blooded killer," Audrey stated, feeling the curler's in her snow white hair to see if they had dried.

Mary shook her head in amazement, "Shouldn't be so easy. Go and kill your husband and just get away with it. Who's to say she won't do it again? Probably to one of those service men she's shacking up with."

Kay agreed straight away, "So true. Worse yet, what if she loses it again and goes all screwy? What if she just ran out one day and started firing a gun or something?"

"You think she has a gun?" Mary inquired, genuine worry marked clearly on her face.

"That would be too noisy, she's smart, remember she got away with it once," Audrey analyzed. Audrey was a great detective, she had seen every episode of Murder She Wrote' and sat fixed to Court TV daily.

Janice held her hand to her forehead in peril, "It's just awful to think about it. I bet she'd do it with a knife. Make her way up one side of the street, house by house. The world is full of sickos these days. It's the times we're in! Jesus is sending us all a message." Janice was a religious zealot. She was sure the end of the world was in progress and could talk for hours about all the prophecies in the Bible that had already come to pass. While she would tell you she was merely prepared, it would be more accurate to say she was downright paranoid. So determined was she to get into heaven that she made certain to bring up God in every conversation, no matter the topic.

Lucille grabbed Mary's arm in excitement. She watched as Corey walked off his porch and onto the lawn. He began clipping the tulips from their stems. "Look at what we have here."

Audrey stared, "Look at that hair. If I didn't know any better I'd swear that was a girl!"

"I've heard things about that little cookie..." Janice said, her mouth firmly puckered, "I hear he leads an alternative lifestyle." She grabbed her necklace between her boney knuckles.

The crows gasped in horror.

"No!" Mary exclaimed in disbelief, though, quite honestly, she had no idea what an alternative lifestyle was.

Kay placed her hand over her heart. Anyone else would've expected her to keel over, but she was always dramatizing things. "That is just unbelievable. I never believed in that holistic medicine, herbal remedies and such. I used Aloe Vera once on a burn, but I don't practice it."

"That lifestyle's full of a bunch of quacks if you ask me. You can't heal somebody by shoving plants in their face. You know what it is; it's a cult... witches and stuff. I heard about it on T.V. You'll never catch me in an alternative lifestyle, that's for sure!" Audrey bellowed insistently, throwing her arm in the air for proper emphasis.

Janice cleared her throat and looked at them above the frame of her eyeglasses, "No girls... another alternative lifestyle," She informed.

The women just looked at her, none of them knowing what to say. They were a bunch of deer caught in headlights.

Ever the insightful one, Janice leaned in, lowering her voice as if someone may hear besides the intended, "You know... he's..." She stopped. Had that word ever crossed her lips before? She didn't think so, "He's fruity," she managed.

"You mean he's a killer too?" Mary winced precariously.

Immediately the other women reacted.

"Oh Lord have mercy Almighty baby Jesus!!" Lucille called out, covering her mouth in disbelief.

"No!" Janice snapped, "He's not a killer. I don't think so anyway."

"Well, what is he?" Kay inquired.

Janice whispered again, "He's a-"

The women drew gasps of air collectively, holding it in anticipation.

"He's a-" Janice held out her hand and let her wrist dangle loosely in front of them.

"A Manicurist?" Kay said uncertainly.

"He's a lesbian!" Janice stomped her foot, angry they were so stupid.

"NO!" Lucille barked in denial.

The other girls were speechless.

Janice nodded assured, "He goes to school with my Jimmy."

"I have children," Kay declared in contempt.

Mary ogled Corey, who had gathered the flowers in his arms, and lifted one up to smell it, "A real lesbian, right here on Harrington."

Audrey sighed, "And this used to be such a nice neighborhood."

Corey walked into the house. He carried the armful of colorful flowers into the kitchen and placed them in a frosted porcelain vase that sat in the center of the dining table. He arranged them accordingly as he whistled a playful tune.

He felt especially good this sunny Saturday afternoon. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. The white, red and yellow buds accented the room perfectly. His Father walked around the corner and froze. Corey grinned, awaiting his words of approval. "They look nice, don't they?" He invited, hoping to prompt some reaction.

Timothy walked to the refrigerator and took out a beer, "Yeah, they look nice," he didn't even really look at them.

Disappointed, Corey took the vase and started away, "I'll just put them in my room." Timothy turned to him, taking a gulp of Bud Light "You can leave them in here, they brighten up the kitchen," he consented halfheartedly.

Corey paused, the faint scent of the tulips drifted to his nose. He didn't want to look at his Father; he realized that if he did, he may say something regretful. He faced away from him, "They were her favorite."

"Kind of pointless since she's not here to enjoy them, Corey," Mr. Evans spoke nonchalantly.

Corey then spun, staring him down as his Dad as he sat down at the table, "But I am... and you are. I thought it might be nice to look at them and remember the way she would spend an hour making sure they were all just right... You don't care, do you?"

His Father leered at him from the corner of his eye, "How could you say that?" He shot quietly.

"Because it's been a year dad. You never talk about her; you don't act like it even matters to you. You've gotten rid of everything we had left of her. You sold the house and you left everything behind like you're trying to pretend she was never here," Corey fumed, clenching his fingers around the vase until they became red from the pressure.

Mr. Evans flew out of his chair, "How can you even dare say such a thing, Corey. I'll never forget. I loved her too. She was my wife longer than you've been my son. It helps me to get some distance from it. I do it for us, because if I think about it I'll die right along with her. That would be my choice, to die with her rather than stay behind and be forced to understand, like everything's okay when it's not. The only way I can go on without her is to leave it behind."

Corey grew weak, his insides churned and he instantly felt nauseous, "Can't we keep what little we have left?" He choked, unable to hide his sorrow.

His Father stepped toward him, "I'm sorry... I guess I still haven't figured it all out yet," He took the vase from Corey's hands and placed it back on the table, "I always thought it would hurt worse to remember, than to forget. It's like torture, thinking back, playing the special moments in your mind over and over like an old movie reel. All along, you know you can never share that with her ever again, and you realize she was here for such a short time... Not long enough for me to hold her one last time before she was gone."

"She's in heaven, you know... It hurts her to be away from us. If she had a choice, she would've stayed; she would be here now... Do you think she wants to forget us? No. She would remember. There's a part of her left behind. A part of her still here. She's here in me, Dad. She'll always be here, and if you want to forget, then you have to get rid of me along with everything else because I am still her son too." Corey wrestled with his emotions, he had cried for so long. He couldn't cry anymore.

Timothy couldn't speak. While the words blasted through his head like bullets, he couldn't make sense of any of them. He remained motionless.

Corey pushed back his hair from his eyes and walked away, leaving him.

Even alone, Timothy was unable to shake the ice that froze him in place. He had broken down in front of his son. He had gone back on his own word. A failure, that's what he was. The day his wife died he swore he would be a pillar for his son. A sounding board. He knew if he lost it Corey would have no one. Timothy knew all to well what alone really was. When his own Mother died, his Father slipped into an uncaring world of booze and pills. Tranquilizers to numb the pain that would claim him as soon as he let himself feel anything.

An only child, Timothy stood by and watched his Dad drink and drug himself into unconsciousness for five years. Every night, his father sat before the radio and pushed away the memories. He would rock in his squeaky, wooden chair and sing along to Gene Autry. It was a Friday night when his Dad came home from the auto factory earlier than usual. He kissed Timothy on the head and retreated to his rocker. Timothy lay at his feet building one of his model airplanes. Right away he noticed the chair stop. His Dad no longer sang. The bottle of Vodka rolled of his lap, landing at his feet. Timothy stood up and stared at him. He shook him once, then again harder. "Daddy, wake up... Daddy? Daddy." He would normally rouse, or at least groan in his diluted state, but he didn't this time. "Daddy, get up. Dad! Please, Daddy come back! Come back. Come back." It wasn't long before he was screaming at him. Begging him not to leave.

Timothy crawled up into a ball on his lap and began to sing with the radio as he cried. He knew he was gone. He died that way. Thirty Eight years old. Alcohol poisoning. Stopped his heart. It wasn't until the next morning when the maid arrived to do morning chores that she discovered the Ten year old boy sleeping on his dead Father's lap. The memory never faded with time.

Now Forty five, Timothy could witness it all over again as if it had just happened. Printed indelibly on the exterior of his brain. That fear, and the sense of incredible loss still haunted him. Going back was like reliving the entire nightmare. Nothing had been forgotten. He could feel his Dad's skin. Smell the liquor. And the music played on. Every emotion was just as sharp as if no time had passed. He was still that terrified child curled up in his own Father's lap.

Timothy sat down at the table. He looked at the flowers in front of him and touched the silky petals... his wife's laughter echoed in his heart.

The Sadie Public Library was more of a museum. It had been built within the remains of an old Catholic church and boasted much of the original architecture. The acoustics still magnified the sound of a pin dropping to sonic boom proportion. Huge framed photographs of the village, as it appeared in the late 1800's, adorned the stone walls, back when dirt streets were adorned with stagecoaches and horses. The women depicted wore long lacy gowns and carried parasols. The men wore top hats and coat tails. An era of sophistication long since forgotten.

Gabe studied each photograph carefully. He came upon a painting of the founder of Sadie, William Jesper Sadie. He looked stern. He wasn't smiling and had his hand under his lapel, like Napoleon. Gabe posed like him, holding his chin up, pushing out his bottom lip, and stuffing his hand between the buttons of his shirt.

"Can I help you?" The librarian appeared at his side and immediately appeared insulted.

Gabe blushed as he regained his normal posture, "No, no, I was just waiting for someone," he staggered.

The librarian examined him for a second, then flung herself around and walked away.

Wide eyed, Gabe looked around humored by her exaggerated bitchiness. He started toward the bookshelves, glancing down each aisle as he passed. Finally he spotted Rachel. He rushed toward her, "Did you find what you're looking for, This librarian is about to come unhinged, like any second," he testified anxiously.

Rachel ran her fingers along the bindings looking for a specific title. She gave him a sly glare, "What did you do?"

Gabe's mouth dropped as if appalled by the mere notion, "I didn't do anything. Now I remember why I don't come here more often. Librarians, though quiet, they're psychopaths waiting to happen. Forget the postal employees; it's the librarians you should be afraid of."

Rachel giggled softly, "Leave Lisa alone, she's just doing her job."

Gabe leaned against the shelf, unsteady on the shag carpet it nearly tipped over.

Startled, Rachel squealed as they hurried to catch it before it fell. The librarian peered from behind her desk holding her finger over her thin lips, "Shhh!"

Rachel nodded her head and mouthed an insincere apology, "Go sit down before you get us into more trouble."

Gabe rolled his eyes, "What are you looking for?" He demanded hurriedly.

Rachel continued browsing, "A book of Poems called 'Quiet Storms,' by Corey Evans."

Gabe looked up at the shelf distraught, "Well hurry up and find it so we can-"

It hit him like a brick; he couldn't have heard her correctly. He lowered his eyebrows, "By who?"

Rachel moved around the corner into the next corridor, "It's a book of poetry called 'Quiet Storms'." She repeated casually.

"But by who? Who did you say it was by? Who is the author?" Gabe pressed, completely thrown off guard.

Rachel grew irritated, "By Corey Evans, Corey Evans!"

"Corey Evans who?" He yelled in torture.

Rachel spun, "Corey Evans! Corey Evans! That's it, that's all!" She fired loudly.

"Shhh!" She librarian reprimanded once again.

Gabe was unaffected by the reprimanding, "You mean Corey Evans from school?

"Yes," Rachel replied, "He has a book of poetry and I want to read it."

"How can he have a book, he's only seventeen, he's our age, what seventeen year old writes a book?" Gabe babbled.

Rachel climbed up on a stool, searching the top shelf, "A gifted seventeen year old, that's who. Now shut up and help me, or go sit down and behave yourself before we get thrown out," She scolded.

Gabe walked around to the next aisle, he rubbed his chin anxiously. A poet. He started scanning the titles. He had to find it before Rachel did. He wanted to read it. He stood up on a small ladder, and moved his fingertips along the titles. The smell of the leather lingered in the air. Old books. Lots and lots of old books. He could see Rachel on the other side, her expression painted with concentration.

Then she lit up, "Got it!" She announced beaming with pride as she began to pull a hard bound book from its place. Gabe reached through opening in the shelf and grabbed it, but Rachel wouldn't let go.

"Let me see," He yipped, trying to pull it from her tight grip.

"That's okay. I have it," Rachel replied, staring at him through the narrow square between them.

"I want to see it," Gabe growled through his clamped teeth.

Rachel was surprised by his interest, "You can see it when I check it out." She tugged on the book, but Gabe was strong.

"Just let me see it!" Gabe growled stubbornly.

"Let go of the book, Gabe."

"No."

Rachel grasped it with her other hand and tried to pull it from him, "Give me the book!"

She struggled. They jerked it back and forth, like a game of tug of war. Gabe would pull it onto his side of the shelf and then Rachel would heave it back.

"Are you high on something?" Rachel blurted.

"I'll - carry - it- for you!" Gabe bribed to no avail.

"I don't want you to carry it, I can do it myself! What the hell is wrong with you?" She barked in aggravation. This was crazy!

The librarian poked her head around the corner again, "Shhhhhhh!" She was obviously more annoyed than before.

Rachel was irked, "You Shush!" She retaliated defensively.

Gabe had one thing on his mind. That book, "Let go Rachel, I mean it!"

"You let go! It's my book!" She argued with sincere determination. She would have that book!

Gabe braced himself against the wooden casing, "Rachel, give it to me!"

"You don't even read, you never read!"

"I'm going to start!"

"Then get another one, there are plenty to choose from!" She reminded furiously.

"I want this one!" He strained, holding on for dear life.

"Fine."

She let go and Gabe fell from the ladder. Airborne, he flew into the shelf behind him, as the case separating himself and Rachel toppled onto him. It caused something of a domino effect, as one by one they collided with the neighboring shelves. Gabe listened as they crashed like oversized building blocks.

He stuffed the book into the waist of his pants and crawled out from the wreckage, getting to his feet, "I'm okay. I'm fine," He advertised, getting to his feet. Everyone in the library had gathered around. The librarian held her chest as her mouth hit the floor. She was rendered speechless as she surveyed the damage.

Rachel glanced at her in horror, "We're not together," she noted, then walked out of the facility.

Gabe raced out of the library. He saw Rachel walking down the sidewalk, her arms crossed sternly. He came up behind her and spoke, "You forget where we parked? I mean, the car's in the lot back there."

Rachel kept a fast pace. She was hoping that eventually he would stop following her, "Have you gone mad? I can't believe what you did, Gabe. You humiliated me in front of everyone."

Gabe remained a step behind her, "I'm sorry, Rach. I was just having a little fun back there. I got carried away," He amended, reaching for her arm, stopping her. "I'll never do it again. Forgive me."

His charm was incredible, she couldn't resist succumbing. "What has gotten into you Gabe? It's like one day you're Dudley DooRight and the next you're trashing the public library over a book. Something has changed..." She concluded.

Gabe wrapped his arm around her. She seemed so little next to his six foot frame, "It's no big deal. I'm still me. I just... I'm discovering a lot about myself."

"Like what?" Rachel asked as he guided her back to his black B.M.W..

"It's okay to let loose once in a while. You only live once right?" He informed as he opened her door.

Rachel got in and fastened her seat belt. He got in next to her. "Why did you want that book so bad?" She questioned.

"I didn't... I was just messing around." Quick on his feet, it was a valiant lie. Not to specific, not to unbelievable.

"It wasn't funny. Give me the book." She held open her hand.

Gabe had hoped she wouldn't see it protruding from under his shirt. He glanced down to make sure it wasn't noticeable. It wasn't. Thank God. "I, uh... I didn't get it."

Upset, Rachel stared out the windshield, biting the inside of her cheek, "I can't believe you didn't even get the book." Gabe started the engine and peeled out of the lot.

Night had fallen and Corey sat at his computer. His mind was blank. The cursor on the empty screen flashed, taunting him. Maybe he had lost it. The words once so easily flowed from his fingers, now they had turned on him. Stressed, he pushed his hand under his thick black locks and massaged his scalp. He flipped off his computer and walked over to the stereo on his dresser. He popped in a C.D. and pressed play. He danced around his bedroom and sang along to the words, snapping his fingers to the theme from the musical Meet Me in St. Louis.

He picked up a brush from the bed and sang loudly. He shook his body and grooved with music. He tossed his hair back and kept the rhythm with his hand. His neck bobbed back like a pigeon.

Gabe watched him through the telescope. He laughed out loud at the sight, then picked up his telephone and dialed his number. It rang... and rang... and rang. So enthralled with the music, Corey couldn't hear the telephone. He spun around the room and belted his heart out. Gabe hung up the phone. He would try again when Corey came off stage. He continued to let Corey amuse him with his gyrating grind.

Corey jumped up on his bed and gave his finale. He could hear his invisible audience cheering him on. His phone beckoned him. He jumped off the mattress and retrieved it.

"Hello? He was still out of breath.

"Hi." Thomas replied.

Corey sensed he was nervous, "Thomas, I've been waiting for you to call."

"You sound out of breath," Thomas noted.

"I was.... just exercising."

"I got you something today... I saw it and it reminded me of you!" Thomas announced excitedly.

"How sweet! I hope it's not a stuffed dog! I don't like stuffed animals, it reminds me of taxidermy."

Thomas laughed, "We'll then I'm in luck, it's not a stuffed animal. I thought if you weren't busy we could go somewhere."

A thoughtful expression found Corey, "Sure," he answered. "I really need to get out of this house; I think I'm getting Cabin fever or something. If I don't get out I will go insane."

Gabe could see Corey holding the phone with his shoulder. Who was he talking to?

"Yeah, why don't you come over."

Thomas was quiet for a moment, "Meet me in the park at the end of Harrington. It's beautiful out tonight."

Corey grinned, "Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes." He hung up and then he walked out of his room.

Gabe dialed Corey again. It rang, and his machine answered. He was concerned. He looked for any sign of him, but he was no longer in his room. Then he saw him appear at the downstairs door and instinctively he recoiled from the lens as not to be seen.

Corey walked down the sidewalk, pulling on a thin jacket to shelter him from the unusually cool breeze. Puzzled, Gabe rushed out of his room and down the stairs.

His Mother was coming up. "Dinner's almost ready, we're having pot roast," She gleefully informed him.

Gabe didn't even stop, "Going for a walk, be right back!" He shuttled out the door, leaving his mother looking rather perplexed by his sudden exit.

Gabe followed Corey down Harrington. Stealthily, he kept a safe distance behind him, staying in the shadows. He realized that should anyone take notice of his antics he would be immediately presumed a criminal. He felt like a fool. Following him like some stalker.

Corey hummed the theme to that old song. "Meet Me In Saint Louis, Louis, Meet me at hmmm hmmm. Don't tell me the lights are shining, hmmm, hmmm, but there." He warmed his hands in the pockets of his knitted jacket. He couldn't keep Thomas off his mind. He was so very fond of him. Corey felt fortunate that Thomas would call him when in desire of company; it gave him a sense of worth. One thing he could be sure of, he had always been a good friend. His reputation for being a steadfast listener and highly reliable problem solver had been well known throughout his circle of friends back home. They knew he was exceedingly level headed... despite his personal neurosis... and he appreciated that people saw him as such.

And yet, when in the presence of Thomas, his mind went completely addle. Whatever slipped from his tongue sounded so inappropriate or utterly ignorant that he spent most of his time with him red from embarrassment. Corey knew he was falling for him. Or maybe it was just that he was desperate for loving attention. That was it! He was just so grateful for the uncommon kindness that Thomas had bestowed that he had unconsciously misinterpreted his own emotions as something greater. He knew he had to purge any erroneous thoughts or feelings from his person. Thomas didn't want a boyfriend. He had felt so helpless and insignificant for so long that he needs a friend.

Still, he did create a stir inside Corey. To think, Thomas would risk his own safety by telling his Father that he was gay. How noble. Corey began thinking more clearly. He would actually put himself in harms way, just because of Corey. He had, after all, called him inspiring. What a precious word. Maybe Thomas could really have true feelings for him someday. Then Corey could have his happily ever after.

Gabe slithered in grass of the mist covered lawns behind Corey, careful to stay at least one house behind. He came upon the Krandell residence. They were a elderly couple who hated kids and as the population of youth increased in the neighborhood, they erected a huge slat-board fence to keep 'hoodlums' from wandering into their yard. As he slouched his way along the fence, the Krandell's second attempt at a security measure, a beastly Rottweiler aptly named Baby, leapt against the fence with startling force, snarling with ferocious intent, gnashing his teeth.

Gabe jumped backward, lost his footing on the steep edge of the sidewalk and fell. He made a frenzied dash, catapulting himself upward from his hands and knees, scurrying behind the trunk of a tree.

Corey stopped sharply and turned. The vicious barking echoed throughout the neighborhood, shattering the typical silence. Was it barking at him? He glanced around the deserted street and wondered how he had agitated the berserking beast behind the fence. Immediately, he thought it best to keep moving, and he did... quickly.

Gabe sat on the ground, leaning against the tree breathless, his clenched tightly on the soft ground. He leered at the dog with detest, then peeked around the girth of the trunk too see Corey fading in the distance. He sighed with relief, which only lasted for a fleeting moment, until the Krandell's porch light came on. He jumped to his feet jumped ran.

Percival Harrington Park was as elegant as the name. A small brook wound its way under small wooden bridges lit by lamps mounted to the rail. Grand oaks and flowering cherry trees adorned the grounds that stretched all the way to the distant tree line. A swing set sat in a designated clearing, along with a tall twisting slide and a merry-go-round. It was another world, alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures.

The air, once cool, was growing warmer by the moment. Corey searched the grounds for Thomas, apparently he had not arrived. He rocked up and down on his toes and deliberated whether to sit down on the bench. No, he was comfortable standing. He walked over to the slide and placed his hand on the metal surface. He grinned friskily, then hurried to the ladder and climbed up to the top, looking down on the colorful land below. He loved the slide. It was his favorite toy on the playground. He and his friends had a curly slide back home. Until they graduated elementary school, they would congregate at the slide every recess, climb up and pretend they were being flushed down a toilet or sucked into an underground netherworld or going to put out a fire. He missed those days.

Corey sat down, his legs aiming downward. He wondered how fast he could go. He used to soar down these things. He prepared to launch himself, gripping the handles in his fists. He drew back and thrust his body forward. Sadly, he didn't slide. The cold metal must have been moist with dew, because he flip-flopped over his legs, tumbling halfway down the chute, then rolled over the edge and landed square on his back. He laid there for a moment until he caught his breath.

He stood up with all of his wits about him once more, and brushed himself off. Defeated, he walked away from the slide, cursing it quietly.

Gabe made his way to the shadows on the other side of the narrow creek until, only a few feet away from Corey, who was standing alone there amongst the whispering breezes and rustling leaves. He seemed so poised, so striking. A child of the night. The moon offered him its glow and the stars were danced in the endless ponds of his dark eyes.

Gabe spoke quietly, but with a confidence only his intended would hear, "It drowns me at night, before my weary eye's sleep," he began.

Alarmed, Corey turned, scanning the darkness around him, "Thomas?" He called.

Gabe gulped, his heart beating furiously. He was looking for him. "No, not Thomas."

Corey felt a swelling fear. Those words... he knew those words. They were the lines from the opening poem of an anthology his previous English teacher had published for him. How had it found its way to, of all places, Sadie? More importantly, who was this ominous figure quoting him. A stalker, perhaps. He took a discreet step backward, angling his foot so a turn-and-dash would be easy. He felt is breathing slow considerably as his chest tightened with anxiety. "Who are you?"

Gabe wanted rush to him, take him into his arms, and draw him inside. "You know me."

Corey braced himself. He wondered if he should run, but a strange curiosity kept him in place. He could make out a tall, looming silhouette against the black trees. "I don't think I do," Corey politely disclaimed, his senses alert.

Gabe stepped out of the shadows, the combination of the candescent light of the full moon and the distant lamps flooded his face. "I haven't read your book yet. I just read the poem of the first page. The one for your Mom."

Corey shifted uncomfortably. This stranger knew who he was. He took inventory of his surroundings, making sure there was a clear escape route in case he had to flee the scene. "W-Who are you?"

There was something exhilarating, just having him this close, and aware of him. "I was hoping you would recognize my voice... from the telephone."

Corey trembled, "Chris?"

"Yes."

He could flex his vocal cords, but nothing audible would come. Corey just looked at him with a blank expression.

Gabe toke a few steps forward and stopped about a foot from him, "Nice to finally meet you." He had waited so long for this very moment, this one magical meeting. It was as if nothing else existed, they were the last two people on the planet.

Corey was taken aback. Now he recognized him. He had seen him in school before. Those chiseled features and thick blonde hair. "What are you doing here?" There was a discomfort in his voice.

"I came to see you. Do you want me to go?" Gabe laughed, a bit daunted by Corey's uncertain expression.

"Did you follow me?"

Gabe didn't reply.

Corey shook his head in disbelief, "You thought you would come here and I would just fall at your feet, right?" His tone suddenly changed, rising from awkward to cold. "You're unreal, Chris!"

Gabe was thrown off guard by his harshness, "I came here to see you, Corey! I know I messed up before, but I'm here now. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Why now?" The question came with a biting force that intimidated Gabe, while he fought for an acceptable explanation, he found nothing suitable.

Corey persisted, this time louder, more hostile, which he found quite uncharacteristic, "Why now? Why are you here, what do you think-"

Gabe interjected; "I couldn't stop thinking of you." he hollered back, quite surprised by his own urgency. The altercation itself was altogether unorthodox. They were, after all, strangers, and yet they were arguing. "I know you're angry with me, and it's justified, but I thought we could start over."

"Why?" Corey spat indignantly.

"Because I like you... and I thought you liked me. Don't you like me anymore, Corey?" He appeared like a disappointed child who'd just been told that there was no Santa Claus.

Corey felt an inner jolt. This may be the only man who ever likes him. How could he reject that? It's not like romantic opportunities were blossoming around him. "I still like you." Corey replied feeling drained. The old saying, 'Beggars can't be choosers' raced through his mind. Wasn't this what he had wanted? Someone to care for him? Isn't that what everyone wanted? To love and be loved? Everything he'd ever felt for this man that once seemed so far away was now before him. And yet, he couldn't stop thinking of Thomas.

Gabe smiled, "You know, I never imagined our first meeting would result in an fight." He looked into Corey's eyes; they were definitely the darkest he had ever seen. "I care for you, Corey."

"You do?" Corey asked softly. He had dreamt of someone saying that to him.

Gabe nodded. "Tell me you forgive me for being a jerk."

"I forgive you," Corey said, staring down at the glistening grass. It was quiet for a while. They listened to the sounds of the night, admired each other discreetly.

Cautiously, Gabe moved forward and gently brushed Corey's face with the back of his hand, "I feel absolutely insane... You don't even know me... but I want I kiss you right now?"

OH GOD! Should he kiss him? Would this be his fairy tale? Was this what he had been searching for? Was this real? It wasn't some moment in front of the mirror to monitor his facial distortions while puckering, or with his wrist. This was another human being. He felt his skin on his arms tingle as he responded. "Yes." He breathed as he moved to him.

Thomas watched them from the trees and he felt has if his body had been trampled by wild horses. He hurt all over, but the worst pain was the one in his chest. That empty space where Corey had been. He was alone again. The bouquet of white Daisies fell from his limp fingers, landing at his feet and tumbling out of their cellophane wrapping. He wondered how it was he could mourn the loss of something he never possessed to begin with. Yet, he was hallow, just an armor with nothing inside. The one time he thought he had found companionship, the one reason he didn't feel alone and eternally embattled had left him. He was foolish to expect anything more. He had robbed himself of his bearing. He just thought that maybe, just this once, he might be saved from loneliness... now, that was to be his only friend.

Thomas turned and walked back toward the shadows and they swallowed him. Perhaps they would comfort him; they were longtime friends, he and the dark.

"So, how did you know where to find me tonight? You live around here?" Corey quizzed as Gabe walked him home.

Gabe had to think quickly. He couldn't tell him that he lived across the street; he would easily find out that he was not really Chris. He couldn't tell him his real name, not yet. There was still Rachel, and Gabe knew she and Corey had grown close.

"Yeah, not far. Just around the corner," All these lies, one right after the other. He reasoned by telling himself that the lies were to protect Corey, not to harm him.

Corey believed him. He had no reason not to. However, there was still a sentiment of suspicion, one he could not shake. "That night you called my name... were you on a cellular phone or something. You had to be close. It sounded like you were right next door."

If he only knew. "I was parked around the curve. I was calling from the car."

They came to a halt in front of Corey's house. Corey took Gabe's hands into his own and looked up at him. He towered above him, kind of like the Jolly Green Giant and the impish Sprout.

"You know, you don't have to hide anymore," Corey stated, hoping that this meeting would prove to be a turning point in their once strictly vocal relationship.

"I wish I would've never hidden to begin with. Being here with you tonight is the best thing I've ever done for myself. The one thing I'm sure of," Gabe conceded truthfully. This enigmatic creature before him was a small piece of heaven, reminding him every time he was near that the world didn't end at the Sadie city limits. In essence, he was his ray of hope. Something pure still survived. Corey brought him out of his mundane existence and held a mirror in front of him. Don't be who you're expected to be, be who you are. True happiness lies in honesty. It took an outsider to stroll into his life to show him there was more. Everything he had, though he was thankful, didn't satisfy Gabe. There was still a void inside of him. Everything he really wanted, but hadn't been aware of, did exist. All Gabe had to do was look out of his window.

"I better get inside. My Dad will worry," Corey stated. "Thank you. For everything."

Gabe nodded in acknowledgment. "Okay."

Corey gave him a quick peck on the cheek and patted his shoulder, "Night." he said.

Gabe flinched quickly, then looked in all directions to see if anyone who knew him might be watching. No one was in sight. As Corey moved just a step away, Gabe grabbed his arm firmly and spun him back into him, folding his arms around Corey's thin body; he kissed him hard, unleashing his emotions. He lifted him off of his feet, bringing him up to his eye level.

"I've been waiting to do that for a long time," He beamed with joy, as they spun aimlessly in the street beneath the light. They laughed gloriously, then stopped, captured by the moment. Gabe kissed him on the end of his nose "Good night," he said melodiously.

"Good night, Chris." Corey replied, still gazing into his pale face. He was still waiting for some rapturous spark, something that would make him sing, that feeling he got when he was with... Thomas. "You should put me down first," Corey suggested, dangling his feet that were about two inches from the pavement.

He placed Corey safely back on the road, "Sorry."

Corey took small steps backward; he couldn't seem to turn away as long as Chris stood there. When he finally did turn to walk up toward the porch steps, he kept looking over his shoulder until he opened the front door. He wanted to feel happier. He knew he should be ecstatic.

He walked into his house, leaning against the closed door. "What am I doing?" He said aloud. "What am I doing?"

Gabe waited under the street light, almost expecting him to appear one last time. Finally, he began away. He would walk until Corey's house fell from view, then come back up the opposite side of the street. He was invigorated, like he had been given a new lease on life. He tapped his hands on his legs to a tune only he could hear, and hopped off the curb. He felt something new, an unexpected optimism he had never before experienced. He was suddenly infallible, nothing could take this away, and with it, he was immortal. He could not help but smile, intoxicated by the night and all that it revealed; he knew that from this moment on, nothing would ever be the same.

seven

Heart Strings

Rachel twirled in front of the full length mirror on Angie's bedroom door, admiring her purple, satin graduation gown. "I have to admit it, Purple has always been my color!" she buzzed excitedly. She looked down at the cap she held in her tiny fingers, "Not to sure about the hat though, it's so.... square."

Corey sat up on the bed flustered, his gown had wrinkled underneath him, "I feel like I'm wearing a dress. I knew we should've waited until tomorrow to try them on!" He complained.

Rachel sat next to him, "This is possibly the biggest moment of our lives! Tomorrow, we put the past thirteen years behind us and move forward. It's a milestone Cor, enjoy it!" She wailed enthusiastically as she put his cap on his head and it fell over his eyes, "You look great!"

Corey pulled it off, "I suppose you're right. It's like, I've just started to get settled in, you know? Things have just started to happen, then BANG, another life altering change. First I move a billion miles from home, then I find myself in Mayberry, where I proceed to get involved in the whole phone thing, all in the blink of an eye."

Rachel stood up and walked back to the mirror, thoroughly enjoying her image. She smiled at herself, "Tell me again about Chris!" She was trying to change the subject. There was no room for woes on this day. Nothing could bring her down.

Chris. The very mention of the name made him flutter like a little girl, and twinge from guilt, "What's left to tell. It was so thrilling. He walked out of the shadows; I have never met a guy like this before. A guy who likes me the way Chris does. It scares me a little. I guess I expected it to be different.

"How did you expect it to be?"

"To beautiful for words." Corey sang as he got up and walked up behind Rachel and began braiding her wavy hair, "Things like this just don't happen to me. Maybe I'm still in shock or something." he added.

Rachel pinched her cheeks, trying to go for the natural blush look, "But it did... it happened. You know what, Corey; our lives seem to be running parallel right now. We're both suffering such drastic changes. A month ago I would have never actually slept with Gabe..."

Corey peeked over her shoulder in shock, "Pardon?"

Rachel grinned shrewdly.

Corey's mouth fell open, "Shut up!"

"I swear. It was like two o'clock in the morning and he snuck through my bedroom window. One thing led to another." Her voice trailed, as though something lingered, something more complex, perhaps regret. Rachel herself was unsure of what remained in the shadows of her consciousness. She hadn't yet discovered the strength to look there.

"You were a virgin, right?" Corey pried, twisting her hair around his finger.

She nodded her head, "We both were." she said thoughtfully, reaching for some lotion on Angie's vanity.

"Oh my God! You little vixen!" He flouted comically. "I'm jealous."

Rachel squirted some lotion on a tiny cotton ball and ran it over her face. Like she needed facial care, her complexion was porcelain. Had she never had a zit? "I always knew I would loose my virginity to Gabriel. I mean, I just knew, so I never really thought about it. It was almost predetermined," she handed Corey a rubber band.

"So you weren't absolutely terrified?" This was a rare occurrence, when he could actually talk openly about such an intimate matter and not be embarrassed. He and Rachel could talk about almost anything; he knew she wouldn't judge him for his inquiring mind.

"I was a little nervous at first, but nature kicks in, like an animal force, almost primeval. You lose all of your inhibitions." Rachel glanced back at him through the mirror. "You forget to be shy."

Corey tied her hair and stood next to her, "Have I ever met Gabe?"

"No..." She hesitated, "He comes from a very religious family. His Dad's a bishop at the church on Cherry Street..." His reaction back at school had frightened her, so much so that she never brought the issue to light again.

"Well, I want you to meet Chris. You'll fall in love with him. He's got the most gripping blue eye's you've ever seen," Corey affirmed joyously. He could still see them, the way they shined.

"I can meet him tomorrow, and then the four of us can get something to eat, maybe grab a pizza from uptown," she proposed.

Corey played with the tassel hanging from his cap, "I don't know. He might not be all that comfortable yet, this whole thing is entirely new to him still..."

Rachel sighed, "No matter what, Corey, we'll always be friends. Despite the men in our lives, or the distance between us... we stay together, agreed?" She looked at him pointedly.

In the short time they had known each other, they formed an unbreakable bond. It seemed a natural evolution; they were two young adults preparing to embark on a life journey where neither of them knew what their respective futures held. This friendship was one of the last things assured. It made it a bit easier, the awareness that the neither of them would be fighting alone to make a place in this world. Through all the chaos and discernment, they would hold onto this as if it were sacred.

"Agreed," Corey committed willingly.

Rachel wrapped her arm around him, appreciating their likenesses in the mirror, "We look cute!" she twittered.

"You guys?" Angie's voice called from behind the bathroom door.

Rachel and Corey looked at one another in shock, "I forgot about her!" Rachel giggled, as they walked to the bathroom door. She turned the knob and found it locked. "Angie, you've been in there for an hour, let's see already!" Rachel moaned impatiently.

She didn't answer. Corey's expression grew grim, "Maybe she's on the toilet," he joked as he and Rachel fell into each other cackling.

"I'm not coming out!" Angie wailed.

"We already have our gowns on, now you have to come out!" Corey insisted, holding his head to the door listening as Rachel clung to his shoulder in anticipation.

"I'm not wearing this. I hate it!"

Rachel howled silently. She found this hysterical. Corey couldn't help but join her. They reclaimed themselves and redirected their attention to their friend locked behind the door. "You never have to put it on again after tomorrow. Come on, Angie!"

"NO!" Angie howled in objection.

Corey shook the doorknob once more, "It makes no difference; we all look the same."

It grew quiet. Then they heard the lock click. Angie poked her head around the corner and then appeared. Her gown had arrived too small. Her belly protruded under the satin. "They think every girl is a size eight!" She scowled, walking over to the mirror as her friends followed.

Corey felt sorry for her, "Maybe they'll have a spare one at school," he said, trying to appease her grief.

"I took home economics; maybe I could just take it out a little."

Angie glared at herself, "I look like Grimace... I'm a big, fat grape!" She frowned, her chin shook. She was going to cry.

"You are not." Corey unzipped her outfit, "We'll just fix it," he decided aloud.

"Look at me... " Angie wept.

Rachel hugged her, "Don't cry, Angie. We can fix it. It'll be okay."

"I hate this!" Angie sobbed, "We can't fix it! I'm almost two hundred and fifty pounds..." She looked at both of them blankly as she turned. "Everything will be okay for you guys, look at you, with your pretty hair and skinny little bodies. I'd give anything just to look like one of you for a day, an hour even." She waddled back into the bathroom as Corey and Rachel closely followed her.

"Angie, you're beautiful," She hated seeing Angie like this; it made her insides ache to see someone else in pain.

Angie looked at Rachel in peril, she hated to be patronized. She wasn't an idiot; she knew the way she looked. She had grown up chubby and she had spent her entire childhood being told how pretty she could be, and how she had such a lovely face. It made her ill. "Thanks Rachel, but when you lie to me it only makes it worse." She began peeling off her gown. 'You're so beautiful,' Isn't that people say to the deformed to make them feel confident? I don't want to hear that, I'm sick of hearing that. I'm heavy... I'm fat. I know it. You know it. Don't pretend like I'm one of you. You don't have any idea what this is like. I've watched you in school, with Gabe and all of your friends, you have it made. Both of you do. You don't have to shop in the plus section at department stores or hear people snickering behind your back. This has been my life... So don't think that you telling me how great I am for one second will make any of it go away. It won't." She stepped back into the bathroom, not intending to cause a scene, yet refusing to allow herself to remain silent. Her sincerity could not be opposed, and both of her friends knew that.

Corey stepped forward, "We all have things we don't like about ourselves Angie. My life isn't perfect, I've had to-"

Angie cut him off in disgust, "Don't feed me the gay bull shit. Like that's a handicap or something, you're gorgeous, and you weren't in Sadie but a day before you had guys climbing all over you. You walk in my shoes just once, no matter where you go, you're still fat and people see that and only that." She sat on the edge of the bathtub, calming herself. She wiped her tears from her face, "You know, when I was nine years old my I went to stay with my Grandmother for the summer. She looked at me and just shook her head, like she was sad. She asked me how I could to this to myself. I was only allowed to eat applesauce and celery for almost a month. She kept me in my room and wouldn't let me outside. One day, some of her rich friends came over, and I was sitting on the stairs and they asked her who I was, and you know what she said? That's the maid's daughter. She was ashamed of me. Finally my parents came to get me and I never went back. I still think about that. The way she looked at me with such disgust, like I was a monster. I was only a little girl. Still, every Christmas she sends me a little dress... I don't even think I could fit my leg in it, but it's was her way of telling me that I am still not enough. Humiliating me." She picked at the loose threading on the sleeve of her gown which sat in her lap. "Before you came here, I sat alone every day. When I heard people laughing and making pig jokes I would just shut them out, like I wasn't there. I closed myself off from everyone, and I felt safe that way. I put a little distance between the words and the intent they had. No one could hurt me that way. I thought of it as me rejecting them. But, even though I wanted to believe I was good, and they were all bad people, just stupid kids, it all still hurt. Mostly when I was by myself, like late at night, or in a quiet place away from the world... even then I could hear them in the back of my mind. I hated myself for giving them that, letting them hurt me, but I did. The Great Pretender, that's me. The butt of a joke I never found humorous. The freak in the corner, the reality of the way things are for people like me. I never asked to be this way, I never wanted to get like this, but I am, and even though I've gone through hell because of it, I still have just a little bit of dignity, because I know there's a beautiful person underneath. She just..." She pressed her lips together firmly, refusing to cry, "...Stands in the shadow of this."

Corey and Rachel stood motionless for a second. Angie's story touched them both. Neither of them knew the right thing to say. There was no right thing, in fact. Nothing could undo what had been done.

Corey folded his arms, and thought. Seems as if the little town of Sadie was really no different than anywhere else, the people here may appear picturesque on the outside, but inside they were all struggling with the demons that had stormed them. He stepped close to her, getting on his knees, he place his hands on her, "I see her," he said sheepishly.

Angie looked at him and grinned modestly. The sparkle on his lash was a telltale sign he had secretly been weeping with her.

Rachel followed Corey's lead, sitting down next to her, placing her head on Angie's shoulder, "Me too," she sighed.

"I know you do," Angie said, her voice cracking, "I know you do now... That's why I love you."

"I have a question," Corey began curiously. The girls looked at him. "Who's Grimace?" He asked seriously.

With that, they broke into smiles that eventually became the glorious sounds of laughter.

The Lincoln High School football field had been temporarily turned into a grand stage. Men and women in their pressed suits and flowing dresses waded through the thick crowd of guests, even though the ceremony wouldn't begin for a half an hour. Corey and Angie stood in the hallway leading toward the exit, the path that would lead them to their future.

Angie bit the skin on the side of her thumbnail. "I'm so nervous. You sure I look okay?" She asked in a high pitched tone, her fear obvious in her voice.

Corey glanced at the small seam lining her gown from the pit of her arm to the hemline, "You can't even tell. You look fabulous, Darling," He declared in forced manner, like a stuck up socialite, or game show host. She couldn't decide which.

Rachel bounced up to them, "I can't find Gabe. His parents are out there already, but he's nowhere to be found," She explained disappointedly, "I was sure he would find me."

Corey leaned against the old fashioned, iron register, "He's probably out there somewhere," He was scanning the halls for Chris.

Just then Mrs. Wayland came into the crowd of students. She held up her finger to silence them, "Make a straight line; we march directly out this door, just like in rehearsal. No stragglers!" she bellowed as everyone fell into form. The three of them stood behind each other. They began doing last minute preparations, making sure their tassel draped over the correct side of their cap, and pushing the slight creases from their gowns.

The band outside began to play their entrance song and the seniors began trailing out onto the field, walking down the narrow center aisle between the families, friends and faculty sitting in the rows of uncomfortable metal chairs. The graduating class shuffled into the first three rows and sat down as the principal took the podium and began the service. Rachel strained her neck to find Gabe.

"What are you doing?" Angie barked, having been distracted by Rachel's constant turning and twisting in her seat.

"I don't see him!" She stated, looking a bit worried.

"He's valedictorian, Rachel. He's probably waiting back stage. He's too good to walk up there with the rest of us common folk. Calm down." She comforted.

Gabe stood backstage. He rubbed his hands together and paced back and forth, taking short, fast strides from one end of the stage to the other. He was a wreck. He knew that both of them were out there, and when he came out, his entire life would be destroyed in the flicker of his presence. It would all end right there. Corey would find out what a liar he was, and Rachel would be devastated when he told her. His fingers throbbed and his tongue grew numb and tingled, as if fire smoldered on every nerve ending. How could he not have thought about this? He knew that this would be the one place where all of them would come together, at one time... a dangerous tonic if ever there had been.

He listened as the principal continued with his speech. It was only a matter of minutes now... minutes that separated him from emotional death. He couldn't let it come to that. He considered leaving the ceremony, however he realized his absence would literally stop the production outside. He was a part of the program. His name was on every flier in black, bold letters. He would let down his entire family.

His stomach gurgled, sending echoes up his esophagus. He walked to the curtain and separated it discreetly, peering into the massive audience. There, right in the first row sat Rachel and Corey. Side by side. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his chest. This was it, he would be exposed. He pulled the curtain closed in agony. He glanced around the scaffolding that held up the make shift stage.

There, perched against a long metal bar was Ellie Squires in her mascot costume. It consisted of an enormous bald head, perfectly round, sporting a purple and white football helmet and a toga held together with a robe.

Immediately, he rushed over to her, pulling off her huge plastic head.

"Hey!" She barked, grabbing it back from him defensively. Her hair was sticking up all over, charged with static. "That's my head."

"I need to use this!" Gabe pleaded.

Ellie stared at him through scolding eyes. Who did he think he was? "You can't, I have to appear in this. I'm the Lincoln Little Giants Mascot," She spat, holding up her foam club that was supposed to look like wood.

Gabe dug in his pocket, "Please, Ellie. I'm desperate!" He begged, pulling out a twenty dollar bill.

"What do you need it for?" She said, eyeing the money.

"I have stage fright, it'll help me get through my speech," he reposed in desperation.

Ellie's eyes scanned the surroundings, "I could get into a lot of trouble," She informed hesitantly.

Suddenly, Gabe heard the audience applaud the principal. He was being announced. Impulsively, with no other choice, he threw the twenty dollars at Ellie and grabbed the helmet, rushing stage side, pulling it over his head.

"Hey!" Ellie shrieked as she followed him, hitting him from behind with her foam bat. She jumped in front of him, blocking his passage and continued beating him with the club, "Give me my head! That's my head!" She squealed between blows.

Unable to control his frustration, Gabe grabbed hold of her weapon, yanking it from her claws. He launched it forward with such force that she tripped over her own feet, and hit the floor. He was sure to give her one last thud on the head before leaving. He knew it wouldn't hurt her, but it would at least stun her.

He threw the club down beside her and rushed out on stage. The crowd stood and cheered as he made his entrance. Stepping up to the podium, he began his speech beneath the bubble of safety. The plastic head.

Corey leaned into Rachel, his face drawn, "That's your boyfriend?" He queried in shock.

Rachel offered a slight grin and sunk down.

Corey could see she was surprised, he made light of the situation, "His head is a little big, don't you think?" He pestered innocently, then let out a laugh holding his mouth closed, it manifested as a snort. When he saw she wasn't amused. He threw his arm up revoking his comment, "It was a joke," he whispered.

Angie leaned in from Rachel's other side, "Is it just me, or is something different?" She taunted, "I can't put my finger on it... Is it his hair?" She continued relentlessly.

Rachel put her hand over her eyes and slouched further downward. Gabe finished his speech and the crowd roared with approval. Rachel, Corey and Angie stood slowly, applauding out of shear obligation.

"I think he's on drugs," Rachel observed, keeping straight ahead, without a hint of emotion.

Corey and Angie laughed.

That evening, the gymnasium had been decked out with decorations. Twisted, purple garland with golden foil stars dangled from the high ceiling. A disco ball hung from the center casting distinct spectacles of light that spun around the room. The lights had been dimmed, and music played from the speakers on the stage. A grand buffet table had been erected, along with a shimmering backdrop for photographs. Young couples were dancing maniacally to Superfreak.

Rachel appeared, framed in the doorway. She chose a tight black, backless dress. Spaghetti straps crawled up her ivory skin and met at the back of her neck. Her hair was pulled up onto her head, and loose curls fell around her face. Her lipstick was a dark red and her eye shadow a heavy charcoal. She was a vision of beauty. Far above average. Not just pretty, she was statuesque, like royalty.

She adjusted her hemline, pulling it down as far as she could. She felt so naked. She had never worn anything like this before, she never thought she would even entertain the notion of wearing some so revealing, but she was determined to get Gabe's attention, once and for all.

Stepping inside, she made her way toward the tables on the far side of the gym. Her high heels would turn inward and she would occasionally lose her balance, but no one really noticed because she looked like any other flailing dancer on the floor. She didn't see Gabe anywhere... she assumed he hadn't arrived yet, so she sat her purse on the table and oh-so-carefully sat down, crossing her legs, as not to give expose anything.

Angie squinted at Rachel from across the gym. That couldn't be her. She sat her glass of punch down and walked across the floor, dodging the arms and legs of kamikaze dancers. Finally, she stood at Rachel's side. "THAT IS YOU!" She yelled above the music, pulling out a chair, "I've never seen you look like this!" She said with delightful surprise.

Rachel rolled her eyes and straightened her necklace, a diamond inside a small heart. "Don't get used to it. I feel like a sardine. I hate these heels, and its way to flashy for me!" she pulled back a strand of curls from her mouth that had plastered itself to her lipstick.

"You look amazing!"

She smiled seeing Angie was not simply being complimentary; she drew back just a little, "Really?" Could she ever really wear womanly things? She blushed and pushed in her chair. "I hope Gabe thinks so. I did it for him," Rachel replied loudly, the music was giving her a headache.

Angie tilted her head and gave her a strange look, "Why?"

Rachel leaned in, "He's been so distant lately. I just want things to go back to the way they were before we had the fight. He doesn't call me as much, and we never spend as much time together as we used to. We used to be inseparable, so I'm going to set us back on the right track."

"Recapture his heart, right?"

"Exactly," Rachel hollered, "Only he's not here yet. I'm going to walk right up to him and knock his socks off!" She explained excitedly. "You look great too; you should wear make-up more often."

Angie shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, "I curled my hair for the first time, I burned my head," she lifted up her bangs and pointed out an oblong red mark, "I guess I'm trying to do the same thing you are. What we won't do for love!"

Rachel lifted her eyebrows, "Corey, isn't it?" She was sure of herself.

Angie sat up straight, "What? Of course not, what would make you say that? Don't be ridiculous. Why would you even say Corey? What are you thinking? Why would you even suggest that I...." She stopped herself, noticing Rachel's insidious grin. Angie submitted, "How did you know?"

Rachel tossed back her head, then flew forward, grabbing Angie's arm, "I knew it! I KNEW IT!" She declared, "I've seen you look at him with that longing stare. It's written all over your face, Angie. You turn three shades of red every time he's around." Angie threw her hand over her mouth jostled, "Please don't tell him, Rachel. I'll die!"

Rachel pushed a cashew into her mouth, "Don't worry about me, I won't tell... It'll come out though, you can't hide it forever... it'll grow and grow until you can't keep it inside and you have to tell him. I guarantee, there will be one instant when you two are alone and everything's nice and quiet and you have nothing else on your mind but telling him how you feel."

Angie hoped that wasn't true. She would never do that. It would jeopardize their friendship. What good would it do her to tell him anyhow? But if there was just one chance, one flicker of possibility that Corey might see her, not as a girl, but as a human being, then she would tell him everything.

Gabe explored the room, searching for any sight of his two lovers. Alone, he would approach them, but together, he would hide in the crowd, as far away as he could. The music slowed. He recognized it immediately; the same song had been played at his sister's wedding. Couples joined each other in rapture on the floor, as Gabe moved through them.

He spotted Rachel across the gym. He stopped instantly, not having realized he had stopped breathing. That could not be her. She sat there in all her grandeur, as if she were just one of these teenagers. But, she wasn't, she was bewitching. She must've felt his eyes on her because she turned to meet him directly. She stood up from her chair and smiled. Gabe's heart quivered in his chest, and he was startled to discover he was nervous. His palms were sweating. He had known this girl for years and he was nervous.

They began to step toward each other and met in the center of the gym, couples swaying around them, the music penetrating them. Gabe was frozen in her sight, "You look like an angel," he said, engulfed by her appearance.

She stepped into his arms and embraced him, "I missed you."

Gabe placed his arms on the small of her back. Something had changed somewhere, for there was a time not long ago he would have been afraid that if he held her too tightly he would break her, but she did not seem breakable anymore, she was not a child, she didn't need his protection and with this new realization he found himself almost unfamiliar with her. "I missed you to," he said, gently laying his head against hers.

They began to dance and she remembered how if felt to be safe, to trust someone indiscriminately. If this was all there was in the entire world, then there was nothing left to desire. It was meant to be this way, it always had been, and would remain so for the rest of their lives. This was home.

"I want us to be this close forever," she whispered.

He closed his eyes, breathing her in. As they made their way in a circle, Rachel began her speech. She had practiced for hours, "I remember when we used to talk all night. You'd call and we'd end up falling asleep on the phone... When we were together every day. You'd come and pick me up on Sundays and we'd go for our walk, holding hands. We don't do that anymore." She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with the lights from above. "It feels like you're slipping away from me." That was good. She was proud of her examination.

Gabe opened his eyes and saw Corey entering the gymnasium, scanning the faces of the crowd. He swung Rachel around fast so he faced the opposite direction.

She nearly lost her footing and grabbed recklessly at his jacket to catch herself. She shot him a stunned glance, her legs staggered outward like a newborn fawn, "This is a slow song!"

He wasn't paying attention; an overwhelming sense of dread quickly consumed him. He knew he had no time for procrastination.

After a brief kiss on the cheek he pulled away from her, "I just remembered, I forgot something!" He forced shakily, then, without waiting for an acknowledgment from her, vanished into the crowd, leaving her wondering what had just happened.

As he darted from the floor, he would find himself being stopped by people congratulating him on his hilarious speech; those hoping for a little conversation were abruptly, albeit politely dismissed. He would kindly nod, offer a false wave, and then press onward in search of cover.

He finally found an appropriate place behind the photographer's thin backdrop, peering around the curtain to make certain no one was in pursuit. Again, he saw Corey.

He seemed entirely gigantic though he was small, as if his mere presence in the room had dominated that of anyone else. He hovered in the entrance, bathed in the red glow of the sign just above him, and it radiated from his black hair, which hung in thin layers on his shoulder like burning embers. His bangs had been cut just slightly shorter than the rest, and they were pushed behind his left ear, but unruly strand crossed over his right eye. His attire was unlike anything formal Gabe had ever seen, it struck him more like one would imagine Gothic Royalty. Dark. Mysterious. Unequivocally beautiful. A long, flowing dress coat of silk reached toward the floor, the fabric moving fluidly, flowing like an ocean at night. The long, thin sleeves, accented his gaunt frame, while a steep, gaping neckline revealed a more traditional white shirt beneath. He was truly a magnificent creature, almost unimaginable.

Corey possessed one of the rarest qualities conceivable. He emitted such intense beauty where you found yourself drawn to him unintentionally. Even though one may not be capable of immediately associating him with gender, the conundrum he was fired a curiosity... you had to speak to him. He was aware of his look. The way he was dressed, Gabe believed he might be using it to his benefit. He imagined Corey knew what would make him look most appealing, the ethereal, somewhat seductive manifestation was purely deliberate. His eyes were more gripping than usual. He had smudged light black eyeliner underneath his lashes. Even if it had gone completely dark, if there was suddenly a blackout, his eyes would light Gabe's way, and nothing could convince him differently. His lips appeared a bit darker, perhaps he was just hot, yet the brightness of them, the deep rouge contrasted with his pale white skin. All this, along with his cat-like hands and feline nature made his subtle demeanor more intriguing, even more irresistible. He was like a human being, only so much more evolved. What we are all destined to be in another thousand years. He knew this, and yet he walked among us like he was unaware of his immensity.

Corey walked over to Rachel who remained on the dance floor alone, "Hi," he uttered shyly.

Rachel spun to face him, grinning, hiding her sadness, "Well, well, well... look at you. Whatever happened to casual Corey?" she teased, playing with his hair.

He shrugged, "He's on vacation for the evening. I thought I would go all out tonight. Shock the poor unsuspecting students of Lincoln High into subordination." They intertwined their arms and escorted each other back to the table where Angie stood up to greet them.

She focused on Corey, opening her mouth to speak, but only making small babbling sounds.

Corey took her hands in his own, "You look... so perfect," he began, looking her over as if analyzing her, "My God! You could break a million hearts!"

She was enthralled by him, "I burned my head," she hummed, instantly regretting her admittance. She wanted to bury her head somewhere, like an ostrich in the sand. She plopped back into her seat, wanting to disappear. "So Rachel, how'd it go?" She asked, trying to act like she wasn't secretly wanting to throw Corey to the ground and smother him with kisses.

Rachel was distant, she held her head in misery, "He ditched me." She wilted in her chair. What was going on in his head? After so many years together and then consummating the relationship, how could he remain so erratic and distanced. Did he not love her anymore? Was he hiding something? Was it really drugs?

Corey put his hands in his lap and stretched his back, "You know, the more you tell me about Gabe, the more I really, really dislike him." he shot toward her. He was tired of her being mistreated and neglected, which was exactly what this idiot boyfriend of hers was doing.

Rachel began eating the cashews again, "He's not a bad guy. He's just going through so much. The pressure of going off to school and having to leave everything behind. He has a lot more to deal with than any of us. He'll snap out of it eventually. I hope." It was an excuse. Both Corey and Angie saw through it. She was eternally hopeful, and yet as the words she spoke spilled forth, indisputably transparent. How could she convince them when it was clear that she hadn't yet convinced herself? Neither of then said anything though, they would allow her that buoyant optimism that made her who she was.

Rachel pushed the cashew dish to Corey, "I still want to see this Chris fellow we've been hearing so much about," She piped, conveniently redirecting the subject.

Corey slid off his jacket, "I don't know... to be honest, I have no idea what's going on. I didn't hear his name called during the ceremony today. I was hoping to see him myself."

Rachel slid her eyes back in disregard, "How could you hear anything today. I barely even heard Mr. Livingstone call my own name. Everyone was screaming and clapping, and my heart was ready to fly out of my chest. You probably were too caught up to listen!"

"Why does so much have to revolve around our emotions? These attachments, these needs we have. If I ever truly despised any one thing it is to rely on someone else to reciprocate something emotionally. I'm so tired of trying to understand.." He brightened. "So, I'm not going to do it anymore." He placed his hand firmly on the table. "Screw this!"

Rachel jumped up, "Exactly." She reaffirmed enthusiastically. "This is our night. No complexities allowed, from this moment of we are carefree." She stood quickly from her chair, "Want to remember what fun feels like?" She grabbed them by the wrist's and although Angie protested feverishly, the pulled her onto the dance floor.

They gathered in a circle and danced, casting off their emotional bindings, it was a moment of pure liberation, and they laughed with abandon, perhaps more sincerely than they ever had since knowing one another.

The Night wore on. The once rowdy group of newly emancipated seniors had now been exhausted. Angie and Rachel were wrapped in each other's arms, rocking side to side calmly to some painful ballad.

"Why do you think we fall in love?" Angie asked in a trance, her chin rested on Rachel's shoulder.

"Because, it's like being a part of something... Everyone wants to be in love. Nobody wants to spend their life alone." Rachel replied, growing more tired with each step.

"What would you do if you were me?" Angie continued.

Rachel laid her head sideways, "I don't know. I guess I would tell him. You can't pretend you don't feel. You never know... Corey's a special kind of individual; I think he'd be honored."

"Do you think he could ever love me?"

Rachel pulled back and studied her, "No, sweetie." Her mouth turned downward. "But you already knew that."

Angie nodded softly.

"But this is more about you. Just because of the reality of the situation doesn't mean you should force your feelings into exile. Allow yourself some validation; respect your own heart as much as you're interested in protecting his. Have your say, express what is in your heart to express, give love wings...." She paused.

Angie drew back and looked her square in the eye "To many love songs."

Rachel nodded. "Yeah well, you know what I mean."

Suddenly, Corey appeared beside them with his jacket draped over his folded arms, "I'm going to bolt. I'm really tired," He kissed them both quickly and said his good-bye's as the song ended and then he turned and began walking toward the exit. Angie watched him despondently as he slipped around the brick wall, and disappeared from view. He was gone.

Corey pushed open the glass doors and immersed himself in the chilled night air. He walked along the side of the building, still able to hear the muffled music from inside. He was depressed. It had now been hours and he hadn't seen Chris. He glanced down at his feet as they drug along the walkway. He put his jacket over him, but it didn't help much.

"Hey there," a voice called. It was not a rough voice, nor was it offensive in any respect. It was deep, sensual. Quiet.

Corey turned and saw him standing in the spotlight cast to the ground by the glowing parking lights above. His hands were pushed into his jacket pockets, his stance rather casual. It was the visual moments; ones such as this, that Corey would fill the photo album in his mind with. Story book photos, to perfect to be real.

Corey felt a tickle in the back of his throat and took a step forward, "I didn't think you were here."

"I'm here now. I've been waiting all night to be alone with you."

Corey entered his spotlight. He too became something of a vision. The way the dim light fell, drenching him.

"I've been inside for the last few hours. I was hoping you would come up and say something. I didn't expect you to ask me to dance or anything, a hello would've done just fine," He said, the wind whipping around them, as it had every time they were this close. His coat swooped around him on the breeze, like black angel wings.

Gabe studied him, as if seeing him for the very first time. He always felt that way around him. Butterflies floated in his stomach. His entire body tingled with building energy. "You see, the thing is..." He leaned against the light post, "I would never have been able to walk away from you," he said, hoping he didn't sound overbearing.

"You wouldn't have had too," Corey shot back immediately. "I'm sorry," he apologized, withdrawing the remark.

Gabe couldn't resist smiling. "Don't be. It makes me feel good to hear you say things like that. I know I'm not the only one who feels like this." Gabe submitted a half laugh, breathy and quiet.

"What do you feel?" Corey questioned.

Gabe pondered for a moment, then came to a conclusion. "I feel like," he paused, inhaling deeply. "Like I've found something that I didn't even know I was looking. Stupid, I know."

Corey moved even closer, "No." He touched his face, "No. That's not stupid..." They gazed into one another, "You see, I've always known what I've been looking for, but I never thought I'd find it."

Gabe kissed his palm, "We never got to dance."

Corey giggled and looked around the empty parking lot, "I can't slow dance. Seriously, I'd end up crippling both of us. I have two left feet. I'm worse than an elephant on roller skates," he chattered hesitantly, but before he could protest any further, Gabe took his hands anyway.

He wrapped his arm around Corey's tiny waist, extending the other. "Humor me."

Corey bit his bottom lip, shaking his head, "I'm telling you, you may never walk again."

"Please?" Gabe persisted.

Corey swallowed the lump that had climbed into his throat, "There's no music."

"Yes there is! You don't hear it?" He held Corey's hand to his chest.

Corey could feel it beating against his palm. He squeezed his eyes together and let his imagination fly. This would be nothing short of splendor. He tried to think of a song. One song that would fit the moment perfectly. They could become Rhett Butler and Scarlet O'Hara. Wait! Which one would be which? No. They could become Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers, or Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn. No. No. They would be their own love story, and as he felt his excitement pique Corey began to hear the music...

Giving in, Corey let him lead. It was something of a silent waltz. They stayed in their spotlight, moving in a circle, laughing.

Suddenly, the music scratched to a dead halt as Gabe howled in agony, bowling over he grabbed at his leg. Corey had crushed his foot. He jumped back, covering his mouth, "Oh God! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," he squealed, trying to help him return upright.

Gabe became still, giving a tricky grin, "Gotcha!"

Corey was a startled, he sunk back in amusement, "I can't believe you did that! I was doing so well. Heard the music and everything, then you go and ruin it!" he provoked in a sarcastic manner. He turned as if he were going to walk away, though he had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

Gabe grabbed him and forced him back, "Okay, Okay. I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself. Your face!" He laughed harder. When he saw Corey was not as entertained by the joke as he was, he straightened, "Sorry," he cleared his throat.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"I am, I admit it! I'm crazy... just bonkers!" Gabe threw his arms in the air, yelling playfully. "I'm clinically insane! I need to be committed!" he hollered. He took Corey and drew him close, "I am deliriously, helplessly, madly in love with you," his once loud boisterous voice trailed to a sincere revelation.

Corey hadn't expected that. What was he to say? He had waited his entire life for a guy like this to say those three little words and intend them for him. He loved him? This really put a wedge in his wheel. Everything he always thought about having to be alone, how no one found him attractive enough to say so, was being challenged. He had played the role of the lovelorn, lyrical genius to perfection and now it was being compromised. This could redefine him, alter his manner of thinking. Maybe he was capable of being loved. Maybe it wasn't his destiny to become a spinster. Maybe he misunderstood. "Say it again," he commanded.

"I love you."

Okay, he wasn't hallucinating. Maybe Gabe wasn't kidding when he said he was clinically insane. He was tempted to survey the lot to see if any men were waiting in little white jackets to take him back to the asylum. It was possible. Didn't the really demented people get a day pass or something that would allow them out of the nut house for a while?

Gabe frowned, visibly fraught with Corey's delayed reaction, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh, No. No. I don't think so... You said you love me?" Corey needed reassurance.

Gabe nodded, "Yeah. I do. Is that okay?" he asked perplexed.

Corey held his forehead distressed, "Yeah, I mean. If you say so. It's just, well... that's a big surprise!" He stammered shakily.

"Why is so surprising for someone to say they love you?"

Corey laughed falsely, hiding his shock, "You just, you need to be sure about these things before you say them... you just," he looked for the proper word, "BLURTED it out there. Just came right out... and, well, those are strong words." Corey began to pace.

Gabe was confused, "I meant them, Corey," And he did mean them, but this was not the reaction he anticipated.

Corey clutched a hand full of his own hair, holding it atop his head, "You, you don't even know me. I could be... NO! I am a little weird. I have these quirks that drive people nuts... I'm prone to terrible accidents, I'm really clumsy. I fall..." He waved his hands dramatically for proper emphasis, "... all the time. I always make a fool of myself, and most of the time, only when there's someone important around, I sometimes say stupid things... and even though I know what I'm saying, no one else knows, so it doesn't help that I know if they don't know. You know. I have all these issues, all this drama, everything is a big production for me, I can make the easiest thing seem impossible. I tend to be over analytical and-"

Gabe kissed him, indifferent to his nervous ranting. Then, he pulled back quickly to see if Corey still felt the same way, if he would continue trying to thwart his efforts.

Corey was holding his breath, "-Difficult."

"Are you done?"

Corey was dazed, "Uh-huh," was all he could manage.

"Good." Gabe pressed his lips to Corey's once again. Suddenly, their passion was shattered by a voice.

"Corey?" Angie summoned hollowly, disrupting their affair.

Gabe and Corey broke apart, staring at her as she stood a few feet away.

"Holy Shit." She gasped immediately in rapid succession- small breaths as if her air passages were closing. Corey and Gabe? Kissing? Each other? Oh no. No, no, no.

An arctic chill crawled over Gabe, mounting him where he stood. He was suddenly paralyzed, but could not take his eyes from Angie, he had to study her every expression to somehow gauge her response. What would she do? His mouth hung slightly open and excuses ran rampant in his head. He had not prepared for this.

Corey rushed to her excitedly but Angie was under attack by the same sense of immobility that had ravaged Gabe. "Angie. I'm so glad you're here," He dragged her over toward Gabe who appeared to have stared into the eyes of Medusa herself. He was a statue. The introductions took place, "This is Chris. The one I've told you about." He said to Angie, but both were far to preoccupied with one another to pay him any attention.

Neither of them spoke.

It made so much sense now, everything became clear to Angie, whose eyelids were glued open, she didn't blink, she didn't show any sign of emotion. She felt like she had just been bludgeoned with a blunt object.

Corey peered back and forth at them, "You two know each other?" He queried, sensing the tension between them.

Gabe jerked out of his altered. His tone was rapid and firm, "I've see you before. In school. Nice to meet you," He tossed out his hand for the taking.

Angie hadn't yet broken from her spell. Her insides shook, she felt as if she were standing on a fault line and the Earth below was going to split wide open beneath them. She looked at Corey blankly, "Is this a joke?"

Corey clung to Gabe's arm, joyously displaying him, "Of course not. This is him," He beamed with pride.

Angie searched for some hint of humor. She waited for them to erupt into hysterical laughter, but they didn't. So, she decided to start laughing, pretending to expose them. "Shut Up!" She tittered, falling a few steps back from them. But, she knew that they were not kidding. He expression grew grim, unbelieving, "SHUT UP!"

Gabe curled his toes in his shoes. He silently pleaded for her not to blow his cover. "Angie, he's telling the truth. I am the one he's been talking about. I AM CHRIS. NICE TO MEET YOU!!!" He flung out his hand once more.

Angie scratched her head, "No."

"YES." Gabe retorted impatiently.

"NO!" Angie said again.

He squinted at her, his nostrils flaring, "YES!"

Then he rushed forward, hugging her like a dear old friend. Angie sagged lifelessly in his arms. He whispered in her ear, "You could ruin my life." He released her and returned to Corey, "Any friend of Corey's is a friend of mine!"

Angie bent over, grabbing her knees, "I think I'm gonna..." She didn't finish.

Corey took her arm, coming to her aid, "Are you okay?"

"I need... I need..." She rose straight up, "Maybe the burn on my head is worse than I thought. I think I fried some brain cells or something. Can you get tumors from a curling iron? Does it use radiation to heat up, like a microwave?" She slapped her hands over her face, "Oh my God! I'VE MICROWAVED MY BRAIN!"

Gabe tugged at Corey's jacket sleeve, "I have a bottle of water in the car... it's the black B.M.W. Maybe you should get it for her."

Worried, Corey agreed and walked away leaving Angie and Gabe alone. Once he was out of sight, Angie took her hands from her face, unveiling scalding eyes. "What the hell is going on?" She growled.

"This is none of your business." He almost seemed threatening. His eyes penetrated her.

"My God," Her hand came to her mouth, "What are you doing?" Terror spiked through her chest. "How could you?"

"You do not know me." Gabe forced. "Don't you dare step into this. This is not your place."

Angie's breathing grew shallow, she felt intimidated but her anger, the very poison that was this vicious betrayal fueled her words. "You're sick."

Gabe stepped forward,

"Look, I didn't plan it; I didn't wake up one day and decide I would do this. It just happened."

Angie spoke almost pleadingly, "Don't do this."

"I'm not blind, Angie, I know what this is wrong..."

"You are Gabe. Not Chris. You have a girlfriend, why do you need Corey? How could you lie to them like this? You let him fall for you when he doesn't even know who you are."

Gabe hung his head "He knows who I am. He doesn't know my name but he knows more about me than anyone else ever will." He met her face once again, "I won't let anyone take that from me."

"I won't let you hurt either one of them, not Corey, not Rachel." She turned away.

Gabe stared at her sparingly, he grabbed the sides of his head flustered then came at her quickly, nearly panicked "Please Angie. I don't want to hurt either of them. I need to be with him, I can't lose him." He was suddenly at her mercy, and he knew it.

Angie peered at him with detest, "So many years..." She began, "I thought you had the world on a string." She turned away from him. "You're a fraud. You're a coward, a liar..." She glanced over her shoulder toward him, "And you don't deserve to be loved." She was unrelenting.

"You don't get it. I have loved Rachel for years, and then Corey walks into my life, and I fall instantly in love with him, the same love that I felt for Rachel I felt for Corey after only knowing him for a few hours. I don't want to hurt Rachel, I love her to much to cause her pain, but I can't hide my feelings for Corey and risk losing him."

Angie began to weep, and because of this she became more enraged, she spun, almost violently, "No matter what you do, someone will get hurt, Gabe. The damage is already done; you've already lied to both of them. You tell him the truth, right now, or I will."

Gabe felt his knees weaken. An ultimatum. "You want to see him hurt, don't you? You want him to be sad and alone. This is not a joke, Angie. I love Corey, and you want to take that away from us... If you tell him, you'll ruin everyone's life... my life."

Angie launched missiles from her pupils, "I don't give a fuck about your life. You're nothing to me. I would never hurt Corey. NEVER. I would never lie to him like you have. You don't deserve him... he's too good for someone like you."

The underlying meaning barreled through Gabe like a runaway freight train. He watched a tear trickle along the edge of her nose, "You're in love with him too, aren't you?"

Angie didn't reply.

"That's it. You're in love with him. I can see it written all over your face. I should've known."

Angie stood firm, "I am not in love with Corey."

"Yes you are!" Gabe shot back.

"I am not!" Angie denied.

"Yes... you are," Gabe finalized the conflict.

"Fine. I am! But don't compare my love to your love; I would never do anything like what you've done!"

"How do you think he'll feel when you try to tell him that I don't really love him, but you do?" Gabe began, feeling a little more self-confident. The tides had turned. "It'll make you look like the devious one. Perhaps your motives are not so pure after all. You are interested in something other than saving your dearly beloved friend."

She wanted to spit in his face, but only shook her head in disbelief. He was blackmailing her.

"We can work together here! You just give me some time and I'll tell him. But I do love him, despite what you think. I'm not a bad guy..."

"Yes, you are."

Corey came rushing back with a bottle of water, "Here you go," he said handing it to her, "there are like ten B.M.W.'s out there. I must have been in every one before I got to yours. Most of them were locked; thank god they didn't have alarms, right? Everyone would come out and find me running like a criminal."

Gabe felt Angie's animosity toward him. Her incriminating stare was unavoidable.

"You ready, Corey?"

"Yeah."

Angie could see that he was enchanted. He honestly loved Gabe. He was on air. She couldn't tell him, then have Gabe expel her own secret. Gabe was right, it would make her seem like she had ulterior motives, like she wanted him for herself and wanted to rob from him what made him most happy. He would surely hate her then. How could he ever forgive her for that?

"I'll call you, hon!" He kissed Angie on the cheek, much too delighted to see her displacement. He bounced away, leaving Gabe behind.

"Thank you," Gabe obliged, starting toward Corey, who had gone ahead.

Then Angie shuttled her leg toward him, kicking him in the shin.

Gabe grunted in pain and held his leg, hopping up and down. "If you hurt him, I promise I'll do much worse than kick you. Consider that a warning," Angie threatened as she began to walk away. She must have felt empowered, because she marched right back and kicked him a second time, square in his other shin, "And that's for pulling down my skirt in third grade," She spurned, then once again hustled away, tossing back her hair triumphantly, "Paybacks a bitch." She muttered, fading into the shadows.

The one lane road was long and winding. Corey could tell it was an old road because the potholes were like craters, deep neglected gouges in the dirt. There were no lights, no houses, and the only evidence of them still being on the ground- and not suspended in some supernatural black void- was the dense foliage leading into endless black woods framed directly ahead in the high beams.

Corey was troubled by the haunting surroundings. He shifted in his bucket seat, "Where did you say we were going?" He asked hoarsely.

Gabe kept his eyes on the shabby lane ahead, "It's a surprise. Don't worry, we're almost there."

His consolation didn't really help. It was the middle of the night. No one was around. A million miles from nowhere. His imagination ran away. He could see it all so clearly. A man standing in the middle of the street wearing a ski mask and tattered bloody clothes, wielding a deafening chain saw, the blades spinning and churning, the motor racing.

Gabe grabbed Corey's hand, yanking him back to reality. "You okay?"

Corey jolted hard and shook his head, "Yeah... it's just so dark... creepy," he stated unnerved.

With a sharp jerk, the car stopped. Gabe pulled the stick into gear and shut off the engine. Now Corey didn't even have the steady hum of the car to soothe him. He was vulnerable to all the wild things waiting on the outside. Waiting for him to take one step into its wild domain before it would swallow him up whole. Maybe a bear, or Wolves.

"We're here," Gabe unfastened his seatbelt.

"Where is here?" Corey was thinking Gabe might elaborate on their whereabouts, and their purpose for being there. He didn't.

He jumped out of the car, jogged around to Corey's side and opened his door. Corey sat still, glancing up at him vacantly, then looked past him and saw a narrow, overgrown pathway leading to his sinister fate.

"You know Chris, this isn't really what I thought you had in mind when you said 'A romantic place.' Had Chris never seen "Friday the 13th" or "Leatherface?"

"I have something I want to show you..." He saw Corey still resistant to the notion of stepping 'out there.' "Just come on!" He insisted, taking him by the arm and pulling him from the car.

Corey staggered until he gained his footing on the soft shoulder of the road. His foot sunk into the mud and loose gravel. He noticed an old sign posted to the bark of a dead tree. St. Mary's Arboretum it read in bold, black letters that had been burned in calligraphy on the cherry stained wood.

They moved into obscurity. Black air all around. Things could be heard rustling in the trees above. Bats? He stayed about a foot behind Chris, who seemed to know his way around. He was a bit slower, careful not to step on anything alive. It was well known that dangerous creatures crept around in forests like these. He wasn't used to roughing it. He didn't care for the outdoors. He hated camping... well, truthfully he had never been camping, but he did sleep in a tree house once. He figured it best to leave the wild animals outside, while he stayed safe and snug inside. He promised himself that he would run with Godspeed upon the sight of anything untamed. Actually, he would probably drop dead from raw fear before he could run anywhere. There were undoubtedly many savage beasts out here. Raccoons, deadly snakes... and spiders. The mere thought of the most remote possibility of spiders made him cringe. He hated spiders. Even in the comfort of his own house, if he saw a spider he would find himself clinging to the nearest ceiling fan. He had seen them up close on some educational show, probably National Geographic. Their numerous devilish eyes. Hairy little deformed bodies. Their wiry legs, dabbing on your skin. Fangs soaked with poison ready to impale you at the slightest twitch. Maybe they were all asleep.

Gabe stopped, turned to him and said, "Okay, close your eyes."

Was he out of his mind? He would close his eyes and a vicious animal would pounce him from above.

"C-Can't I just turn around?" He asked apprehensively, straining in a vain attempt to focus on what lay ahead of them. It was a clearing of sorts and he heard a steady whooshing, like thunder still miles away.

Gabe stepped behind him placing his hands over Corey's eyes. He began to guide him forward.

They emerged from the woods into a large clearing. "Ready?"

He lifted his hands from Corey's face. What he saw sent him winging, like he could take flight, just spread his arms and sail into the air like a sparrow. This was a place torn from the pages of time and preserved like something so divine that God himself was its guardian. It was acres and acres of flowers. Every color imaginable dwelt here... like this was where it all began. Detailed statues of holy figures stood exalted from the grass, some chipped and broken from the and random vandalism.

It resembled a fantasy land. A place that inspired all those fairy tales and love stories. The last place on Earth not desecrated by the polluted ways of human imposition. Weeping willows danced upon the breezes. Full gardens flourished in raised beds. Corey himself felt refreshed just by being there among such gracious magnificence. He walked farther onto the grounds, absorbing every sight, filing it away in his memory. Magic lived here. Wishes came true, dreams could become reality.

Not far away were cliffs, the land fell a few hundred feet into the salty waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The white crests could be heard crashing against the jagged rocks far below. The first time the word beauty was spoken had been here, upon the site of this enchanting countryside. Corey walked to the edge of the cliff and stared out across the peaceful water, visible until it met the cloudless sky above. The blazing stars upon the churning surface had shattered into an infinite sea of shimmering light. This was Eden.

Corey turned to Gabe who was beside him sharing the same view, "Wow..." he whispered.

When Gabe looked upon him, the pale moonlight casting subtle shades of blue across his face, his desire grew, "I used to come here all the time. It belongs to a church, but it didn't generate enough money to keep going. No one cared about plants and flowers, everyone was to busy rushing through their mundane lives, to worried about what they don't have to stop and cherish all do we have." Gabe took inventory of the majestic maze of paths around them, all in full bloom, "I don't understand how they survive. No one comes here anymore. The church can't afford a groundskeeper, so they just deserted it. Left it to die... but here it is, more beautiful than ever. Living, growing."

"I would come here." He said. "This is church to me."

Gabe turned back to the sea, "How such a thing can exist out there, something so powerful... and you can go your entire life and never see it. You can do all the things you're supposed to do, achieve everything you set forth to achieve never knowing that something greater is just beyond it. We never miss it because we never know it's there. We become complacent." He felt the cool mists from below settling on his face, his skin began to glisten. "That's why I wanted to bring you here. I wanted to share this with you. I thought, maybe... this could be our own private place."

Corey grinned coyly and turned away, not wanting to take his eye's off of the heavenly view. "This should be shared with the world."

Gabe smiled adoringly.

"A church is no closer to Heaven than this. This is God's church, beyond the walls, past the stained glass windows. This is where God lives." He said, beginning down a long, wide vestibule that was made up of thick, draping Mandevilla vines boasting vibrant white blossoms. If there really was a tunnel to heaven, this was what it must look like. When he came to the end of the arched walkway, he found himself staring over a small, manmade pond. Lily pads drifted upon the crystalline surface while purple Japanese Spurge spread across the bank, crawling toward the water.

Suddenly, dozens of colorful lanterns flooded the area in a dim light, and a small steep waterfall began cascading over the rocks in the center of the pool. It looked like the work of sorcery, to dynamic to be real. An illusion.

Gabe appeared in the opening of the corridor behind him.

Corey spun as Gabe moved past him, coming toward the edge. He ran his hand under, bringing up a palm full of water, letting it filter between his fingers. "It's warm," he said.

Corey let his Jacket slither off of his narrow frame. It hit the grass silently. Then he stepped out of his white dress shoes, and pulled off his socks. He slowly made his way next to Gabe, who was studying his image in the pond. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Corey step one foot in, followed by the other, "Feels nice," he said in a raspy voice, one that didn't indicate any real sound, just formed breath. Soft, seductive.

Gabe looked up at him and Corey offered a suggestive grin. He glided farther into the pond until it came just above his waist. Then, he pushed himself backwards, breaking the tranquility. The water welcomed him, seemingly parting to take him under. He floated on his back, half submerged. His face and chest became islands. Particles of the reflected stars shook vigorously around him like a glass aura. Then he regained his footing as rivulets dripped over his shining face. He looked at Gabe, "Aren't you coming?"

Spellbound, Gabe raised slowly, unable to look away. Corey was an extraordinary sight. So sexual, most likely without even knowing it. He took of his dinner coat, dropping it alongside him. He began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from its neatly tucked position.

Corey watched in awe. He didn't want to seem overzealous or nervous. Honestly, he was feeling both equally. He couldn't wait to be close to him, but he was afraid that, because the situation was so charged, he might succumb to him.

With his jeans still on, Gabe slid into the water. It tickled the fine hair on his arms as it advanced upward, swallowing him as he went deeper. With a little distance between them, they were beheld in the in one another's virtue, unable to speak.

As Gabe gathered the bravery to take the few steps that separated them, Corey smiled cunningly, drawing back his hands and splashing a great wave toward Gabe, who in turn, gave a valiant rebuttal. It turned into a water war as they flailed around in the shallow pond, laughing and yelling gleefully. Glittering specks of prisms soared through the air as they played like children.

Gabe lunged forward, restraining Corey who was ready to blast him with another gallant wave. He held his tiny wrists in his grip. Their laughter trailed to silence as they gazed upon each other. Corey's eyelashes seemed darker than before, like they were crowning the black gems they withheld. His hair hung in strands over this ghostly face. His full, red lips were lusciously wet. The water had left narrow streams down Gabe's defined chest. His flesh glistened like a silken robe of skin. An immortal moment had taken them hostage. Boundaries had been crossed as an awakening of their every sensation occurred.

With the back of his hand, Gabe caressed Corey's neck, moving up until his fingertips found his lips. Corey let them open just slightly, allowing his tongue to feel the touch. Corey placed his hand on Gabe's hardened muscles, running his thumb over his dark nipple. The skin was so soft there, so sensitive. They searched each other, making sure their efforts were well received. Now, they had surrendered to the night.

"I want to make love to you," Gabe whispered, his look penetrating his partner.

Corey was wordless. What could he say? I'm sorry; I can't because I'll probably vomit on you from raw nerves? That wouldn't be very romantic. Instead, he remained motionless. Gabe moved his lips closer to him... Closer, then he paused for reassurance... closer, and then came the kiss. Their bodies pressed firmly together, their hearts beating in perfect synchronization. Gabe began unbuttoning Corey's white shirt, then he peeled it off of him, exposing his pallid skin. No blemishes, just pure porcelain, he was like a china doll, breakable. Corey seemed modest, no one had ever seen him like this, so vulnerable. He trembled with fear.

Gabe saw he was unsteady, "I won't hurt you." He started to kiss the gap of his long, lustrous neck. His jugular vein pulsated gently. Gabe licked the lobe of his ear and spoke softly, "I want you."

This was it, this was really it. SEX! Why was he so scared? He'd dreamt of this moment for so long. It couldn't be more complete. He was in a place that was closer to heaven than anywhere else. He was with a guy who really wanted to be with him. It was everything and more. He felt Gabe's strong hands move down along his spine to his buttocks. Corey didn't know what to do? Rachel told him that it would happen naturally, that some force, long dormant would take over and make it happen. WHERE WAS IT? He waited to be taken over... and waited... and waited, and still he shook like a stepchild in the vicious grip of a wicked mother.

Gabe retreated and investigated his expression carefully, "You okay?" He questioned under a veil of concern.

"I'm just a little scared. I've never done anything like this before, so I-" He fought with his honesty, but it prevailed, "I don't know what to do."

Gabe was considerate, in fact Corey's innocence engaged him even more, but he didn't want him to engage in anything he didn't have total faith in. "We don't have to."

Corey wiped a puddle of drips from below his chin, "No! No, it's not anything like that. I want to, but I'm afraid I'll do something wrong. I've had this image of the way it would be and I just... I don't want to mess it up. Plus, I'm a little introverted. I've always been shy and this is kind of the most special thing people can give. You know, you see me naked and I see you naked and we pray there's nothing to laugh at. It's all so complex. One thing leads to another and you have to wonder who does what and what goes where. Will he like this? Will I like that? Really, before any of that we should have the 'Double D,' Not that I'm implying anything, but you just never know."

Gabe sat confounded, "The Double D?" he rattled confused.

Corey tilted his head, "Yeah, the "Disease discussion," that's what I call it, it's less offensive that way. I've never had to say it before and I guess it sounds a bit silly. Sex is dangerous now, two people used to be able to go out and hump anything that moved, now- Now you have to boil your partner before you touch them. Rightly so too! Who wants to catch something that'll make them all gross? Some people get nasty little sores and bumps that have to be burned off, or surgically removed. What about lice? Did you know that you can catch critters in your crotch? They probably have some shampoo or something to cure those," He paused as if considering it, then started up again, discarding it, "I mean there's AIDS and Gonorrhea, Hepatitis, Syphilis, Herpes and of course the ever attractive warts... you know? Warts..." Corey babbled aimlessly.

So much for romance.

The expression Gabe held was one of pure repulse. What a way to kill the mood. He felt dirty all over, like he needed to be sterilized just for picturing it. "Well," Gabe stuttered, "You want to just... hug?"

Corey slumped over, making a barely audible giggle, "I'm sorry," he said, cursing himself, "I just get so unnecessarily graphic. When I'm nervous I jut pull anything out of the air to try and hide it, but it only makes it more obvious. Unfortunately it's all very real, so I figured I'd just... throw it out there for you! Get it over with... Bet I took the magic out of the moment, huh?"

Gabe was wide eyed, "Well, Definitely a bit colder out here, that's for sure... But I understand, it's cool, you don't have to worry, I don't have anything that needs to be surgically removed or shampooed out... or burned off, or that calls for any type of medication," he informed humorously.

Corey stepped close to him, "I really want to, Chris. I want to be with you, and I think partly why I'm a little leery of this is because everyone I've ever wanted to be this close to has left me. Not that there have been that many." He shook his head and laughed at himself. "Statistically that makes me a little unlucky...." Awkwardly, he bit his bottom lip. "I can't do this. Not now. I'm so sorry," Corey swept his hand over Gabe's hair, pushing it from his eyes. "I guess I just need a little time."

He wondered for a moment if there was something wrong with him. Why didn't he feel that animal passion that Rachel spoke of? Perhaps it was just to soon. Maybe it was just delayed. Or, maybe he just didn't have it at all. Maybe it wasn't in his future... to let himself be loved. He made his way to the shore and slipped out of the pond, climbing over the bank. He was sad and confused. He shouldn't have entertained this charade. It appeared that even when he found someone willing to share something with him, a relationship, It was he who avoided it. Not it avoiding him, as he had always complained. There was nothing else to blame, not his looks, or bad luck, or that poetic, predetermined destiny.

It was him.

Rachel sat on the edge of her bed. Her clock flipped from five thirty to five thirty one. She felt the constant nagging of a lingering headache. Though her eyes were heavy, sleep evaded her. It felt like an anvil had been laid upon her. She picked up the telephone and dialed Gabe's number. She listened to the tiny clicks and pops as the connection was made. It rang, then rang again. A third time, then a fourth. Then an answer.

"Hello," Mr. Cavanaugh said. His voice was throaty and deep. Rachel gently laid the receiver back onto its cradle. Gabe was not home. She knew that. If he would have been home, he would have known it was her calling and he would've made sure he reached the telephone before it woke his parents.

Where could he be? She simply had to talk to him; there was so much she wanted to say. Things she needed to know. Why did he leave her at the dance? Why didn't he come back? Rachel had waited there for him, believing he would return to her with some silly explanation that they would share a laugh about and embrace each other for the final dance. He never showed. The crowd had disappeared, couple by couple. Even Angie left her. Soon, Rachel was the last one in the gym. Confetti and torn napkins scattered about the floor. The stage was empty and dark. The decorations had begun to fall from their mountings. She was alone.

Rachel had to know what was going on. Gabe seemed so distracted and uncaring now. Were they growing apart? Could that be it? No. Not after all this time. People don't just drift apart and lose interest. They had shared more than a relationship. They had a history together, a long one. They were a huge part of each other. Things like that don't just change. He still loved her. She knew he loved her. It was common knowledge. Through all of her trials and tribulations, her times of uncertainty and moments of need, Gabe stood by her side. That was the one thing that remained true, his love for her. She felt it when they were together, it was visible and constant, having supplied her a lifeline during her struggles. When her beloved Grandfather died, Gabe refused to leave her. He allowed her to cry on his shoulder and scream with all of her might, angry at everyone and everything for her loss. When she had her appendix out in eighth grade, Gabe brought her fresh flowers every day. As she reminisced, her burden swelled and ripened until she found herself sobbing softly. There between the pink walls of her bedroom, she allowed the darkness to take hold of her, as she reached up and turned off the light.

Angie lay sleepless in her bed. The street lamp that hovered in the trees outside her window had thrown a menagerie of shapes onto her ceiling. If she looked hard enough, she could make out faces and figures skipping across the eggshell panels. She tossed in turmoil. So many pictures raced through the theater in her head, all so clear and colossal that they seemed to dwarf her. The most prevalent replay was from what she had seen earlier. Gabe and Corey wrapped in each other's arms. Kissing. She wished she had told Corey right then and there. Even if Gabe had retaliated by telling Corey about her own love for him, the fact that he had already lied about so much would instantly incriminate him. It was a matter of moral duty. Corey was her friend, it would be awful of her to know such a secret and not expose it. Corey had a right to know that he was being deceived. If she didn't tell him, who would? A real friend would protect him. Angie was a real friend, though her intent did run a little left of the friendship highway.

To Corey, she was just a friend, but Angie read it a little differently. She would make it a point to go beyond the call. If Corey needed her, she would always be there. If he wept, she would dry his tears. She wanted to become something more, something above friendship. Okay, maybe she wouldn't become his girlfriend, but she would be his confidant. His unassigned angel, just as he was hers. They would share something so unique and special that to simply call it friendship would be an understatement. Friends come and go, but Angie wanted this to last for the rest of their lives. She wanted to be eighty years old and crawl onto his porch and be welcomed with a joyous hug.

It was now that she consciously decided she would never betray him, never be too busy to listen, and never ever take him for granted. Then she saw his face. A smile that could launch a thousand fleets. Eyes that made every night brighter than any moon could dream of. That was when he was next to Gabe. She wished to feel that way someday, ripe with such an emotion that it sprang from her every step. Flakes of glitter would encompass her, as she had just jumped from the page of a story book. Isn't that what we all want? Love unbound? If she were to tell Corey about Gabe, what would happen? Would his radiance diminish? His smile falter? Who was she to rob him of that? He would blame her for destroying his affair. Angie would become the enemy. Kill the messenger, even if she is just a lovelorn chubby girl with good intentions. Not only would it ruin Corey and Gabe's relationship, but it would shred Rachel and Gabe's as well. Rachel loved him so much, and she walked around in a blind state, unaware of what was really happening. Maybe she wanted it like that. After such a long courtship, finding out Gabe, her Knight in Shining armor was unfaithful, and with a man, her friend... Well, that would kill her. If Corey found out that she knew and didn't tell him straight away, he would hold her in contempt.

If this were some test, Angie had failed miserably. She should have told them both. She shouldn't have been intimidated or selfish, because now, not only would Rachel and Corey be hurting, but she herself would have to pay a grave price. She couldn't tell them what she knew. Not now. It would make her look as if she had been apart of it. She would lose some of the most precious people she had ever known. She had never been so close to two people as she was to Corey and Rachel... she wouldn't jeopardize that for anything. She would keep her mouth shut. Pretend she hadn't seen a thing tonight. Turn away. That would spare her from sacrificing the only thing she's ever held so dear. Her best friends.

Angie rolled onto her side, cuddling her pillow. She wanted to go back in time and change things. If she could do it again, she would stay in the gym instead of gaining the strength to go and tell Corey how she felt. It would save her not only from the conflict, but from the arrow that ripped into her heart when she saw him kissing someone else. Didn't matter who, but it wasn't her. That would make her sleep come easier tonight. Then she could rest.

Unfortunately, upon seeing Corey with him, the place in the most flourishing part of her soul was now barren. She didn't know if it would ever find life again, for it defied her logic in maintaining the modest prayer that he would one day open his eyes and see her for the first time as she was meant to be seen. She negotiated with her emotions by considering that perhaps someday she would find a man who would feel for her as she had for Corey, and then she will find herself experiencing what both Rachel and he already had, walking on the edge of a dream, weaving a romance that would set her afire. Someday.

Angie slipped into a quiet slumber. For now, that was where she still held him. No one could take him away, for this was her world. Here it was paradise. When she told him of her love, he would return it. He would call her name from across a galactic ballroom, colored in silver and gold. In her long beaded gown, decorated with pearls and rubies, with her hair pulled up onto her head and small curls spilling over her bejeweled tiara, she would turn and see him. Then whisper his name. "Corey."

eight

July

Main Street on a stifling day. The sun was unforgiving and everyone was suffering the consequences of the unusual heat wave. The cars parked along the storefronts emitted visible waves of heat from their aluminum bodies. Men and women moved quickly from one destination to the next, sometimes from store to store, if for no other reason than to cool off.

Corey wore a short sleeved maroon shirt, and jeans. He always wore jeans, even on merciless days like this one. It wasn't due to ignorance, but instead the fear of exposing his skinny white legs. His modesty was unrelenting.

He took shade beneath the cloth awnings above the entrances to the stores. This was a far cry from the city. Nothing like Market Street. Sadie's business district was made up of one block. One streetlight brought you in; another at the opposite end of the block led you out toward the residential areas. There was Mandy's Beauty Parlor, The Sadie Post Office, The pharmacy, an Antique Shop, Doctor Bradford's Orthodontic Clinic, A small eatery called Grandma's Kitchen, and finally, a large window that read: Timothy Evans: Attorney At Law.

Corey started across the street, an oncoming car waited for him to pass. Corey proceeded up onto the sidewalk offering a courteous gesture. He was heading toward his Father's office when he saw Thomas from the corner of his eye sitting on a bench at the intersection.

Pleasantly surprised, he smiled to himself and started toward him. It had been nearly a month since he had last seen him. Corey assumed he had just become busy with other things as most had, with college preparation and all that it entailed. All at once, as Thomas came further into view, it hit him like lightening. He had never met him in the park that night. Oh well, that seemed like ages ago, it didn't matter now. He came up behind him, glaring over Thomas' shoulder.

He held his sketchbook on his lap, and his fingers fled across the page with great fervor as he drew the children who were roller skating in the vacant parking lot across the way. Corey placed his hands over Thomas' eyes and felt him jolt from the shock of sudden darkness and his book fell to the sidewalk. Corey brought his mouth toward Thomas' ear and he whispered delicately, "Guess who?"

Thomas knew that voice. He could recognize it anywhere. The voice that haunted him so. Corey took his hands away and Thomas gazed up at him grinning. He walked around the bench and sat next to him, picking up Thomas' sketch book and placing back on his lap. "Where have you been?"

He looked a bit different, more settled, more grown up. What a difference a month made in him. Thomas could tell that he had dyed his hair a dark shade of red that blended with his dark features. "I've been around... doing my thing."

Corey held his hands together, twisting the ring on his pinkie finger, "I haven't seen you anywhere. Not at graduation, or the dance afterwards. You never call or come over anymore... I was beginning to wonder if you really ever existed or had just been some something I dreamed up." He furrowed his brow to punctuate his playful accusation.

Thomas shifted on the bench. It had suddenly become so hard and uncomfortable, "I wasn't at graduation, or the dance. I don't get into those things... they bore me."

"How did things go with your Dad?" Corey began, feeling a little flustered by being here with him again. He had almost forgotten how this felt.

Thomas took inventory of his surroundings. The children had all skated away; the street light had turned red. "They didn't. I didn't tell him."

Corey's face fell, "Oh, I see. You just acted so gung-ho about telling him, I just thought you would have."

Thomas tossed him a stern look, "What for?"

Corey began to feel like he shouldn't have inquired. Maybe Thomas figured it was none of his business, "Well... I- I remember you saying how you wanted to live your life. It seemed important to you, that's all," Corey said, suddenly uncomfortable.

Thomas nodded, "It was at the time... Then I started thinking about the purpose. There wasn't any. I'll tell him someday, when I find someone who I want to make a part of my life, then I'll tell him... There's no point in doing it until then."

Corey rubbed the back his neck. He could feel the sun beating down on it, and his long hair made it worse, "Whatever happened to inspiration?" Corey smiled widely, "Remember you said I inspired you?" He winked playfully.

Thomas corrected him, "No. I said someone inspired me. I never said it was you," he pointed out blankly.

Corey was thrown by his abrasive tone. "Oh... I misunderstood. I do that a lot." He felt like a fool. Open mouth, inset foot. Thomas was right, those were his exact words. He never said it had been Corey who inspired him. "Well, what happened?"

Thomas leaned his sketch pad against the seat of the bench, "It just wasn't what I thought it was. You see, I met this guy... this really wonderful person. I wanted to be with him, but I was a coward. Couldn't find the guts to do it. Finally, when I did found the strength..." He looked down the road as a car flew by, "Well, he politely rejected me. He called it ridiculous."

Corey sympathized with him. He could tell that Thomas was inflicted with that all too familiar disease... a broken heart. He placed his hand on his shoulder, "I know how it feels. If I had a nickel for every time I misread someone I'd have a lot of silver on my hands. There are plenty of guys who would be grateful to have a guy like you. Don't let that one idiot bring you down. He obviously doesn't know what he's missed out on, so it's his loss, not yours. Remember that."

Thomas submitted a queer expression. Was it possible that Corey didn't catch his analogy? By the expression on his face, Thomas could tell that Corey didn't realize that it was him who he was referring to, or was he just being cruel? No, that wasn't in his nature to be condescending. He was truly oblivious to it. "Well, it all sounds good, Corey, but I'm not over him yet. I still think about him from time to time."

"You have to stop. He's not worth the thinking effort. I know it's easier said than done, you have to move on from this. If it's the last time someone breaks your heart, then you're lucky. I must've had mine broken a million times before I finally found someone who actually likes me as much as I liked them!" Corey commented, trying to be supportive.

"So, you've finally found someone, huh?" Thomas interrogated, glancing downward. He had seen him kissing that man. Though, he couldn't tell who it was, he knew that was who Corey was talking about.

Corey smirked, "I think I have. He's really sweet, and full of heart. It just goes to show you that when you've given up hope and believe you're destined to be alone, someone comes along to prove you wrong."

Thomas looked him directly in the eyes. They still devoured him to this day. It was as if no time had passed. "Who is he?" Thomas forced. Did he really want to know? It would only make the pain greater.

Corey lifted up his hand, showing him the golden band adorned with small diamonds, "His name is Chris. We've been together since... well, since right after you and I last spoke."

"You happy?"

"Yes, I'm Happy! You should try spending seventeen years alone. Give up all hope. Think of yourself as completely unlovable,-"

"I have," Thomas interjected impatiently, "You think you're a caricature of the word lonely, like you have a monopoly on it. You've built your entire person on being poor, awkward, unfortunate Corey Evans, like you're the only one who has ever been left behind... I really hope there's more to you than that... because it gets old."

Corey sat gape mouthed, unsure of how to react. He felt suddenly embarrassed and unwelcome. He stuttered when he spoke. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't realize that's how I portrayed myself. I was just trying to let you know that I understood how you felt. I didn't mean to assume..."

"You don't have any idea how I feel. You think you do. You think you do because everyone's experiences in life are only as authentic as you believe they are. You're the only one who matters." He stopped, pushing his hand through his hair hard.

Corey was horrified, he blinked his eyes fast as the words cut him. "Why are you saying this?"

Thomas leaned toward him. "There's this place in my heart... It's cold and dark, ridden with cobwebs. That's my love. Old and forgotten. Malnourished. It offered itself to one person, one time, and it wasn't good enough. Call it whatever you will, melodrama, teen angst, but I can't stop this... and maybe a part of me is like you now. I'm preoccupied with my own suffering, and I'm afraid my heart may be like that forever... empty." Thomas wiped the sweat from his brow, what right did he have to say such things. Corey was, after all, absolutely unaware of origin of his anger. He wasn't being fair... he felt this cold urgency to hurt him with his words. To make him feel the way he had left him feel that fateful night and every night thereafter... but it was wrong. Guilt is an ugly emotion, and no sooner than the next breath passed, it had set in. "I'm sorry. I- shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean them."

Corey, immediately forgiving, touched Thomas' hand, "I know..."

They shared a gentle stare, and then Corey laid his head on Thomas' shoulder, wrapping himself around his arm, "But, you'll always have me." He promised.

Thomas laughed sheepishly "I will?"

"Yes. You will. I'll always be your friend. No matter what happens, you'll never really be alone. Isn't that our worst fear, being alone? Well, I'm right down the street... literally." Corey giggled. He enjoyed being this close to Thomas. It filled him with an inexplicable comfort.

Thomas detected the fragrance he wore. It was mild, yet lingering. To have Corey this near... to have him embrace him, it sent him soaring. Frivolously, he pretended that they were together. That his expressed affection was more than just platonic. It felt like that everything he was, everything that could be, every thought, every day dream, every hope, and every prayer had been fulfilled. This was they way things should be. They fit each other like they had been tailored for unity.

"Did you miss me?" Corey asked quietly.

Thomas looked at him, "Did I miss you?" He reiterated.

Corey remained glued to his side, "Yeah. Did you miss me? If you didn't miss me I'd feel disposable. Like it wouldn't matter to you if I disappeared from the face if the planet. If you missed me it would show that our friendship meant something to you and you'd notice I was gone."

Thomas had so many words on the verge of spilling from his mouth. The passage linking his thought processes to his vocal cords was open and flooding. He should tell him. He should just let it all come out. Tell him how much he cared him, how he needed to be with him. He would take care of him, and never hurt him, or make him regret loving him in return. He would give his last breath for the opportunity to love him. "Yeah... I missed you," he said. Though he had the means to tell Corey, he didn't. He couldn't.

Corey gave him a hardy squeeze, pleased by his admission, "I missed you too." He sat up from Thomas's arm, gunning with joy, "What are you doing today?" Corey gripped his hand.

Thomas could see his anticipation, "Nothing, why?"

"Let's do something. We could go take a walk on the beach, or hang out on the abandoned docks. I don't have to be anywhere for awhile, so we'd have the entire day together."

Thomas supplied only a dry glance.

Corey was put off by his supposed need to think about his suggestion, "We don't have to. It was just an idea." Corey stood up from the bench and started down the sidewalk, He turned to Thomas once, "It was nice seeing you again. Don't stay a stranger, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, before he continued on.

Thomas watched him get smaller and smaller as the distance between them grew. He couldn't have gone with him. It would be intolerable to have him so close, yet so far away. He knew if he were to spend any time with Corey, he would say something out of line. He would spew an unwelcome comment, or make an unconscious gesture pertaining to his unspoken devotion. He would make an ass out of himself, and Corey would be reluctant to spend time with him again. He was best kept at bay. Here he could enjoy him, and not worry about interfering with his affairs, or challenging them. He could still love him, only with discretion.

Fireworks flew high into the black sky, exploding into huge balls of fire, and colorful streams that seemed to dance as they fell all the way down into the dark harbor along the ocean. Rachel and Gabe sat on the sand. The surf would rush toward their feet, then just before reaching them, it would retreat. His arms were wrapped around her from behind, his fingers clasped under her bosom. Their faces would light up with every burst of sparks, and Rachel would jolt at the ground shaking boom that would inevitably follow.

This was a tradition for them. Sitting on the crowded beach with the many other spectators. They had been doing it for so long that Rachel could easily recall the past Forth of July, and the one before that, and the one before that. It wasn't just a holiday; it was an opportunity to revel in all that they had shared. A chance to look back and see how far they'd come since the year before. They had sat near this very same spot, it was just after Gabe had taken the Little Giants to the championships and won by scoring the final touchdown. People were approaching them on the beach congratulating him; young, giddy elementary school girls would flirt and blow him kisses. Rachel's hair was a bit shorter then. She had fallen asleep chewing bubble gum and somehow, during the night, it slid out of her mouth and she proceeded to role around in it. She woke up the next day with her head stuck to the pillow. When she sat up, gooey, matted strands of hair clung to her face and the pillow sat up with her. She remembered how mortified she was when she had to walk downstairs toting a pillow on her head. She was in such a panic that she hadn't though to actually remove the pillow from it cloth casing. She ran into her mother's room, looking something like a creature from a comic book. He mother had to cut it from her head. Rachel wept as she watched clods of her precious hair fall to the floor as her mother snipped away.

"What have I told you about chewing gum in bed?" Her mother had groaned.

Through sharp gasps and drawn out wails, Rachel replied, "You - said - I - would choke. But I didn't choke Mom. It came out of my mouth in the middle of the night and glued me to my bed!" She cried.

Her mother was on the verge of laughter but refrained as not to mock her daughter, "Well you're lucky you didn't choke!" That was the first time she had ever really had more than a trim. Gabe hated it and she knew it, though he never would have said so. He evaded the subject. When she would ask his opinion, it was always the same. "It's cute." His answer would never vary. "It's cute." A hamster is cute. A baby is cute. She loved him anyway. He was thoughtful enough to spare her feelings, and that even made her love him more.

This year, so far, had been plenty eventful. They had their "almost" break-up. Corey had been introduced into her life, and was her new best friend. She had sex for the very first time. She had discovered her femininity, a womanhood that she was still getting used to, and was anticipating her first semester at NYU. There was still so much ahead for her, and while she would take it all in stride, she knew that her life would take new directions and she may find herself in a place that she hadn't necessarily set out for. She was on the brink of being a full blown grown-up. One of Them. A life full of demands and responsibilities. She would welcome it. It would be a satisfying change. It wasn't like she would leave it all behind. She would still have Gabe. She would have Corey, and Angie. Her mother and father. She would come back to Sadie, and everyone around her would witness her evolution.

Next summer, she hoped to be sitting on this same beach with these same arms protecting her. Then she would look back on this very moment, only then, she would be looking at it from another place. Another frame of mind. She would have a new life, with new opinions and views. She would be exposed to so much over the next year, and while she new that change was imminent, she hoped that she would still remain herself, understanding, open, and in love.

Corey took a neon blue necklace from the concession stand. He handed the clerk two dollars and began to snap it around his neck. Angie stood next to him. She was waiting for the next explosion from the launching displays above. She hated them. It made her skin crawl. She knew it was nothing, but the overpowering blast made her feel like she was at the center of a crossfire. She didn't like the way it felt, vibrating through her body and everything around her. She looked at Corey who was having a hard time latching his new necklace, "It's the turn of the century. We have trips to mars, and cures for diseases... can't they come up with a quiet firework?" She complained.

Corey laughed, "That's part of the fun. The noise is part of the celebration. It wouldn't be the same if there were no booms!"

Angie saw he still had not properly latched his necklace. She pushed his hair over his shoulder and began to help him, but the joint was so small, she had to wrestle to hook it. "They have fireworks like this in California?"

"Yeah, they do. Only in San Francisco they launch them over the bay bridge, over the water like they do here. The finale is something awesome. A steady spray of sparks comes cascading from the rails of the bridge and they fall into the water. It looks like a waterfall of fire. It's amazing," he explained. Just then, another magnificent, thunderous blast.

BOOM! Angie jumped, her face tightening with fear. She looked upward in terror, not realizing she was pulling so hard on Corey's necklace that she was strangling him. He was mouthing silent words and pulling forward, but Angie was staring out of the ocean skies, searching for the reward. That firework must've been enormous. She looked back at Corey who was gripping the necklace with his fingers, trying to breath. "Oh my God! I'm sorry, Corey. That one really freaked me out," She apologized.

Corey inhaled deeply. His face was a bright shade of red. He turned to her with a shocked expression as Angie pushed down one corner of her mouth, "Sorry," she whimpered again.

He snatched the necklace from her hands and began to try again as he started away. Angie followed close behind him. Their feet sunk into the dry sand as they wrestled their way through the crowd.

She saw the necklace was still giving him trouble, "Let me do it." She exclaimed.

He darted away from her, his voice sweet and well meaning, "THAT'S OKAY!" He said, "I got it, Angie! I can do it. Thanks."

They situated themselves on a thin blanket. After finally winning the battle with his necklace, Corey stretched out, looking at all the unfamiliar faces, "I didn't think this many people lived in Sadie."

Angie pulled her legs underneath her, "They don't. Some come from Crawford County, way out in the boonies. They don't have their own shows over there, so they all come here. Where's Rachel, anyway?"

Corey tossed his head from side to side, "She had to meet lover boy. They were spending the Fourth together. She said they did it every year. Personally, I think the guys a loser," Corey stated in disgust.

Angie's rolled her eyes, "He is."

Corey dug his hand into the sand, "I've never met him. Rachel said he's scared of me because I'm gay. That right there tells me that he's probably one of those jock meatheads with an ego the size of an air balloon. Probably afraid I'll hit on him. That makes me want to puke. You wouldn't believe how many guys are intimidated by gay men because they think we'll make a pass at them. How stupid is that? He must think he's the best of his gender... to assume that I'd take a liking to him. I don't even know the guy and he still repulses me," Corey made a funny shape with his mouth, like he'd just eaten a rotten grape.

Angie had to bite her tongue to keep from talking. She spoke through her pursed lips, "If you only knew," she hushed.

"What?" Corey asked, involved in making a hill of sand to destroy.

"I didn't say anything," She lied.

"Have you met Gabe?" Corey questioned.

"Yes.... actually I have," she answered, growing visibly uncomfortable with the subject.

"What does he look like?" Corey investigated.

Angie swallowed with an audible gulp, "Well, uh... he's not all that great. Kind of reminds me of Barney Rubble, You know, the short funny looking guy from the Flintstones?"

Corey howled with amusement, "Barney Rubble? He does not! No way! I'm serious, I want to know what he looks like so I'll know who he is if I ever see him."

Angie spread her hands open and began patting her palms together, looking up at the sky, "You know... there was probably so much more to the Flintstones than you or I could ever imagine."

Corey arched his neck and raised his shoulders. "Come again?"

"You know, it all seemed so wholesome and perfect. Fred came home to Wilma every day; she had lunch on the table. Barney came home to Betty... Wilma and Betty were best friends, but neither of them could've suspected what was really going on. Sure, Wilma and Betty were friends, but there were times when Fred would leave early from the rock quarry and pay a congenial visit to Betty," She lowered her head and glared up at him ominously, "You know what I mean?"

"No," Corey shot blankly. She had lost her mind.

Agitated, Angie leaned in, "Betty and Fred were carrying on! Wilma never knew the difference. She never suspected a thing. She loved him to death, but all along..." Her voice grew grim, "He was with her best friend."

Corey just peered at her through eyes of pity.

Angie smacked his leg, "Don't you get it? Even though Wilma loved him, he still cavorted with Betty. Even Betty loved him. They both did. Betty thought the world of Fred, but he belonged to Wilma. Fred was cheating on Wilma with her best friend! He was scum. Lower than scum, he was scum on the belly of scum. Wilma needs to know what Fred is doing, but it would kill her because she loves him so much. Then there's the little paperboy. The one who always threw the paper at Fred, remember? It would knock him down. That paperboy knew what Fred was doing and he hated him for it, but the boy never told because he knew he would be the one who would lose out. Wilma would cancel her subscription so he kept quiet, even though he liked Wilma, but he knew she was happy with Fred and he didn't want to take that away from her, even though the bastard didn't deserve her. You follow what I'm saying?" Angie spoke with the zeal of a great philosopher.

Corey took her hand and gazed at her lovingly, "Honey... I love you... I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay? No more cartoons," He demanded seriously, "No more."

Angie sighed exasperated. She so desperately wanted to tell him what had been eating at her for so long. The knowledge seemed to gnaw at her from the inside, damning her for hiding it away. How she wished it would disappear. How come the things we want to forget stay on the forefront of our mind, but, more so than not, the instances that we wish to remember appear to vanish, as if they never existed at all?

Corey hugged his arms over his narrow chest as he pulled up his knees. He watched as the white crests of the serene waves crashed upon the shore. A conscious breeze blew over him, giving him its silent approval, "I saw Thomas the other day." It could have only been a thought, but he said it aloud with the reverence of someone who was alone, unaware that anyone would hear.

Angie could see it in his face. That far away stare, the sparkle in his dark eyes that glowed with the slightest tilt of his head. There was something there.

"What did he say?"

He didn't move, didn't look at her. He kept perfectly still, being consumed by his emotions, "Nothing," he whispered sadly. "Nothing really. I don't think he really likes me very much anymore. It's so strange how things are. I sat with him for only a short while. He told me how someone broke his heart, but how he still loved him... and I was... jealous." For a brief passing moment, Corey jumped out of his fixation to absolve himself, "I know it's stupid, me being jealous and all." Then as if the place he were in was to precious to leave, he fell back in, growing more remote, "It's just, he spoke so sincerely. I watched his face, and he was so... sad."

Angie was focused on him, wanting to partake of his dream. What she wouldn't give for just a piece of what made him so smitten, "You like him..." she concluded, as if it wasn't obvious.

Corey met her with a stunned expression, as if realizing how right she was. He couldn't do this. He couldn't like another guy. He was with Chris. That would be wrong. "I- I don't like him. He's just a friend, that's all. That's it. I just admire the truth in what he feels. It was all so real. Thomas doesn't even know me. We have fun when we're together but he really doesn't seem to care whether I'm there or not. I asked him if he wanted to do something together and he just stared at me like I was crazy to presume that he would want to spend the day with me. He didn't say a word, so I just walked away."

Angie was still taken in by his words. She wanted to be him, "But you do... You like that guy."

Corey didn't answer. He was listening to the water before him. How it shifted around, churning so gracefully. Perhaps if he listened carefully enough he could hear it whispering to him. There did seem to be an order to this chaos. Just then, another ball of fire filled the sky. Red, so red. It burst open like a flower, and the petals careened downward until it eventually dissipated, leaving behind only a bright white cloud. The only reminder that it was ever there. A picture so exquisite that it was only to grace his eyes for a fleeting moment.

Angie crawled over beside him, pushing his hair over his shoulder, studying his expression, "I think you should leave Chris... search somewhere else for what's important to you. For love."

He glanced at her surprised, "What are you talking about? I can't break up with Chris. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for someone to feel about me the way he does? I don't just take things like that for granted. Who's to say anyone else will ever care about me like he does again? That would be foolish of me to disregard something that I've always wanted for nothing. Things like that don't just happen to me; no one ever falls in love with me. It's always me who falls, and it's always me who suffers while they pursue someone else. I've spent my entire life watching-"

Angie held up her hand quickly, stopping him. "Stop. Just stop." She had listened to him embark on these tangents before, and whether he realized it or not, it was untrue. Even if he didn't know it, she did.

He was surprised by the suddenness in her voice. "Well, it's the truth."

She didn't say anything in response, only gazed off.

"Look, I don't expect you to be able to understand anything much relating to the concept of being gay, and I recognize the fact that before I arrived the only reference you people here may have had is from an episode of Jerry Springer, but I'm not the quintessential homosexual as defined by social terms."

Angie shook her head, "you're right. I don't understand."

"Look at me," he said. "The long hair, little body, pale... I don't fit the mold, or what gay people, in general, have imposed as acceptable."

"Gay people don't accept you?" She wrinkled her nose.

"Some don't. Listen, it's no big secret that I have overtly feminine qualities. The way I talk or laugh, the way I dress. A lot of gay men are offended by that, just as much as straight men. It's like you can be gay, that's fine, but just don't be feminine, don't look gay or allow anybody an inclination that you might be. A lot of gay men are straight looking, straight acting gym bunnies who want other muscle laden, straight acting jocks. I can't be that." He pulled his hands into the sleeves of his shirt, "I don't mean I dislike myself, and I realize it's a personal trespass to say this... but I would be that if I could be that, just to make it a little easier. Just to fit... somewhere."

Angie began to understand, and the notion troubled her. "But, you're beautiful."

He offered a polite snicker through his nose. "Beauty doesn't cut it. Handsome is the key word. Boyish. I'm neither of those things. I wasn't out there in the real world, and I'm not here in Sadie." After a moment of quiet deliberation, he cast away the dampening feeling overwhelming him, "But straight men and lesbians take a shine to me!" He smiled now.

Angie hung her head. She could feel her insides trembling, "Where is he tonight?"

"Who?"

Her eyes widened, "Sorry, I went off topic. Chris, I mean. Where is he?"

Corey pushed back the hair from his face, leaning forward, laying his head on his knees, "Spending the holiday with his family. They were going out of town."

She could tell he was disappointed. She was quiet. She knew he wasn't with his family. He was with Rachel. Asshole.

Suddenly, she was distracted by a loud giggle. One she recognized. She peered through the crowd behind them and wheezed loudly when she saw Gabe and Rachel only a few feet behind them.

Holding hands, they kissed each other. Corey immediately noticed Angie's despair, "What are you looking at?" He asked as he began to turn to see.

"NOTHING!" Angie screeched as she grabbed his face in her hands, preventing him from seeing them, "LOOK AT ME! Look at my face! Do you think I'm pretty?"

Corey laughed. He could see that she was keeping him from something, "You're fine. Now let me go!"

"There's nothing there! It's just people!" She jumped on top of him, knocking him over, "Hold me incase I hear another big boom. I'm such a chicken! I know, but if I'm close I won't be so scared! Let's sing!" She bellowed as she rolled on top of him singing excruciatingly loud, "KARMA, KARMA, KARMA CHAMELEON, YOU COME AND GO! YOU COME AND GO!"

Gabe held Rachel's shoulders as he looked into her eyes, "You have to come and visit me at school, and on the weekends, I can come to New York."

Rachel nodded, "Yeah. If we do this right, it won't even seem like we're apart. We can be together all of the time." She heard the distant cries of a girl singing. It was an awful voice, sounding more like an animal in heat, "My God! Who is that singing?" She asked, scanning around the crowd.

Gabe glanced around, "They could use voice lesson's, that's for sure." Then he saw them. Corey and Angie rolling in the sand. Angie sat on top of him, holding his face in her firm grip. She looked directly at Gabe, her eyes wide as saucers.

"It sounds like Angie!" Rachel observed, standing up, taking a step toward the ruckus.

Gabe's face filled with terror. He grabbed Rachel's arms, and like a rag doll, flung her backward into him, "Let's go somewhere!"

Rachel gave him a curious look, "What are you doing, Gabe? Let me go, you're hurting my arm."

"I'm sorry, baby," he said, and he threw his arms around her slamming her into his body. Holding her face into his armpit tightly.

"KARMA, KARMA, KARMA, KARMA CHAMELEON! That's Boy George, you know who he is? He's gay and He's not a muscle jockey." Angie barked as she sat on his chest, squashing his face between her hands. She was out of breath from the struggle.

He met her with a dead stare as they stopped wrestling, "Angie, I have no idea what just crawled up your ass, but please, GET OFF OF ME!"

Angie stood up off of him, "Sorry, I just had to get some energy out of my system," she lied.

Corey staggered to his feet, massaging his red cheeks that were imprinted with her finger marks, "Well I hope you're done!" He scolded.

Angie began picking up the sheet from the sand, "Yeah, I feel much better now. A lot more relaxed. I was all bound up, you know?"

"What are you doing, don't pick up the sheet, we haven't even seen the finale yet!" Corey objected.

Angie continued pulling the sheet up into her arms, "We don't have a finale here. Not like you're used to seeing, it would be a waste of time to wait for something you can see any year. That's why the have the forth of July every year, if you miss something one year, you can always come back the next. Besides, they'll be a bunch of explosions and I'll end up losing all of my hair from nerves. Let's just go someplace quiet, we can have quiet fun," she murmured rapidly.

Corey grabbed a corner of the sheet from her, trying to yank it from her arms, "Just give me the sheet, Angie. You can just cover your ears if the noise gets too loud."

Angie hung onto it, refusing to give it up, "No, its okay. We can come back next year!"

They began tugging on it, each trying to gain control.

Corey was bewildered by her bizarre behavior, "Give me the sheet, Angie. I don't want to wait until next year!"

"It's all the same anyway; you'll just be older next year. We're leaving!" Angie spat.

"What's the matter with you? I swear, if you don't stop this right now I'll have you committed somewhere!" Corey shot back.

"That's what I need, I need to go somewhere! If we don't leave here right now! I'll have to leave here in a paddy wagon. I'll go berserk."

"You already have gone berserk! You've flipped out! You're singing old Boy George songs and arguing with me over a sheet! Don't make me smack you!"

Rachel beat on Gabe's chest with her open hands. Finally she pried away, gasping for air, "What the hell are you doing?"

Gabe still held her arm, "I just wanted to be close, that's all."

"You tried to suffocate me! I couldn't breathe in there!" She tried to pat down her tangled hair.

"I wore deodorant," he said comfortingly.

She leered at him angrily, "What's the matter with you?"

Gabe brought her close again. He could see her reservation, she didn't want to go back into his pit, "Nothing's wrong. Why don't you go get us something to drink? I'll wait right here, someone needs to watch our spot so no one steals it!" He dug into his pocket and handed her some money. She took it, but hesitated before finally storming away.

Angie jerked the corner of the sheet from Corey's hands. She was a mental wreck, and it showed. Corey was covered in sand, his clothes wrinkled from the event, "All right, Angie. You win. If you want to leave, we'll go." He turned breathlessly and began heading right towards Gabe.

He saw him ducking behind a lifeguard stand. "Chris?" He came to a hard stop.

"NO! NOT THAT WAY!" From behind, Angie threw the sheet over his face. He pulled at it blindly as she and heaved him backward and he fell to the ground. "Oops," Angie muttered as she moved around him.

Corey yanked the sheet from his face and spat out grains of sand that had gotten into his mouth. He jumped to his feet and began through the crowd toward the wooden stand. "I see you. I see you Chris! I know that is you!"

He was caught. Damn. He came out of his hiding place as Corey marched up to him furiously, "What are you doing here? I thought you said you were leaving?"

Gabe strained for a fast excuse, "Plans changed. I just thought I would come and catch the last of the show."

"And you couldn't call me. You knew I would be here. I told you I would be here with Angie!"

He turned to Angie who stood behind him, "Can you believe this?"

Gabe reached for his hand but Corey shunned him, "You know how things are, Corey. People don't know about us! If I came here with you everyone would've seen."

Time froze... everything around him hung in suspended animation. His heart rose into his throat, and he could not speak around it. There was nothing apologetic on Chris's face, no indication that he even realized the severity of his words. He felt immediately ashamed; embarrassed that Chris had felt that way. His breath shook, like he had just fallen twenty stories and landed on his back. It hurt. So badly.

"So... you just didn't want to be seen with me." He swallowed hard. "I- I see. Well you should've just said so before," He shrugged, trying to seem unaffected. "Instead of lying to me." He pushed past him and began walking away as Gabe and Angie followed.

Gabe jumped in front of him, blocking his path, "That's not it, Corey, come on! You know my situation. You know I can't let people find out like this. I need time."

Corey moved around him and continued walking. He had to escape. He refused to let him see him weaken. He didn't want him to know how much it had impacted him. He was frantic to get away, almost panicked.

"What the hell, Corey! I'm doing the best I can. I would've come here with you but-"

Corey spun toward him angrily, "-But? But nothing. You wouldn't have come here with me, you'll never go anywhere with me. We leave for school in a month, and you probably never planned to be seen with me."

They shared a tumultuous stare. Gabe didn't say a word in defense of himself. "You're ashamed of me, aren't you?" Corey asked heartbroken. Gabe didn't reply. "That's it. You think I would bring you shame if you let people see me with you. Even if we're just sitting next to each other, you'd be looking to see if anyone was laughing at you for being with me." Corey's voice began to crack as he withheld his tears.

Gabe was helpless. He couldn't find any words to comfort Corey. He wanted to hold him, but he knew he would pull away once again.

"You're ashamed of me," Corey accused, he turned and began away again, "I should've known! How could I be so stupid?"

Gabe and Angie followed him up the banks onto the boardwalk. Gabe was numb; "Corey, I'm not ashamed of you. I'm ashamed of myself, I shouldn't have lied, but I was just afraid that it was too soon. I'm not ready to come out like that yet, it doesn't mean I don't love you."

Behind Gabe, Angie rolled her eyes in disgust, "You don't know what love is," She condemned.

Gabe turned to her, "Shut up."

Angie threw he sheet at his face. He pulled it off and ran after Corey who had made his way to Angie's old, rusted Toyota.

Gabe grabbed his arm and made him face him, "I fucked up, okay! I'm an asshole."

"That's for sure," Angie offered as she appeared beside him, moving to the other side of the car.

Gabe ignored her, "Don't leave like this."

Corey opened the car door as Angie started the engine, "Let me go."

"No. Not until you forgive me. Not until you understand that it's nothing against you. It's me. There's still so much you don't know."

Inside the car, Angie let out an inaudible guffaw. This made her sick.

Corey had lost himself to his sorrow. The tears fell over his pale cheeks, "Let me go, Chris. Before I say something that we'll both regret. Go and enjoy the rest of the show."

"How can I do anything when I know I hurt you?"

"You did it knowing that you would hurt me." Corey pulled away, his face burned with rage. "You can be ashamed... but you will not make me live like I have to be ashamed too." He got into the car. Angie sped away as Gabe watched the taillights fade into the darkness. Another massive explosion shook him. He was gone. He had ruined it. He collapsed to his knees with grief.

Corey stared out the window as they drove through town. It was all so empty. Not a soul in sight. Everyone was at the show. How did he get here? How did he get to this era of life where he was so vulnerable to another person's cruelty? Chris had never really loved him. He couldn't have. There was no shame in real love. He was ashamed of him. He hated him so much. He hated himself for being so naive. It was all too good to be true. To think that someone might actually like him, maybe even love him was just plain audacious. He had tried to fight fate. Beat the odds, but the last inkling of hope that he fed on had now vanished.

He watched as the trees and houses along the street swept past the moving car. Sadie... Secrets and lies. Little lives in some obsolete place, untouched by the world at large. He hated this place. With it's cardboard exterior and repetitive manner of existence. All so predicable; so quaintly inane. He was a fish out of water here too. A terrible fit.

Angie knew she had to say something. She couldn't just let him sit there, mourning. She was at a loss for words. She knew she had to say something smart, but consoling. She had to be sympathetic, yet supportive. She thought good and hard. What would be appropriate for the moment?

"So, wanna do this again next year?" She bubbled, breaking the deafening peace that was about to drive her over the edge. She slapped herself in the forehead. That was a stupid thing to say. Of course he didn't want to go through any of this again. Neither did she. Seeing him like this was poisoning her. She was used to seeing him happy and outgoing, not sullen and withdrawn.

He raised his head from the window, "Sure."

"You want to listen to the radio?" Angie asked, flipping on the power. It came on loud, filling the car with Tammy Wynette's superb voice singing Stand By Your Man. Angie turned the tuner, "There's got to be something else on," She hummed, trying to keep the atmosphere upbeat. Another station came in clear, an oldies station: The Supremes, STOP! In the name of love. Angie grew irritated, quickly changing the dial. Another station. Dolly Parton: "I will always love you." Angie flipped it off feeling rather sorry for the botched attempt. What was so great about love? All of these singers wailing about their loves. Why didn't they sing about something else? There were millions of topics that were far more original that the old, worn out love songs. Damn radio! That was probably the reason most lovers went mad. Trying to recuperate from a tragedy, they go home depressed to their rooms and flip on their radios only to have their episode rubbed in their faces over and over again through lyric. That's sick. Aren't there any happy lovers out there? Is love really just a disease that doesn't discriminate? Maybe it's a natural evil, the mind's way of punishing us. You are ecstatic when it all starts, but when it ends, you're under emotional terrorism.

"Don't let it get to you, Corey. Chris is really not worth it. He has several issues that would have eventually ruined the relationship anyway. This is for the best, trust me," Angie said, filling the gaps of silence that still remained.

Corey glanced over at her, wiping his weary eye, "It's not Chris, Angie. This really has nothing to do with him. It's all about me. He basically played his part; he did what did what he was supposed to do. This was the way I knew it would be. I'm just... not meant to be loved. It's just not in my cards. Chris was just a pawn in the universal game of destiny. I'm always allowed to get so close to the real thing, and then it's pulled away. I have no one to blame but myself. I did it to myself. I fell for the bait and I thought that maybe I didn't have to be alone, then once again, it's proven to me, as it has been before, I am unlovable." He laid his head back against the cool glass window.

Angie slowed to a stop in front of Corey's dark house, "You're seventeen years old, Corey. To think you're not able to be loved now is a little premature. There's nice guys out there... and girls, who will meet you, and fall for you just the way others have."

Corey sniffled, "Yeah? You see, that's the thing, people who fall for me are either unable to really be with me in a real relationship, or it's someone who hiding from it. Ashamed. I know I'm young, but in my life, my love life, I've been shown that's it just not there. It's not going to happen. On the outside I seem young, but inside... Inside I'm already old. I feel old and tired. It's like I know how things are, but I just refused to accept it. Maybe I set my standards to high. I don't know. I'm always waiting for the man of my dreams to step out of the shadows and sweep me off of my feet. I'm waiting to be carried away. I want the fairy tale. Cinderella and Snow White, they were young, and it all played out for them. Love found them, and they lived happily ever after... but it won't find me. I'm invisible to love."

Angie leaned against her door, listening carefully to his examinations, "Cinderella had a wicked stepmother, and her only friends were three little mice that spoke to her. Sleeping Beauty had a curse put on her by an evil witch, and was put to sleep by a spindle. Those aren't fairy tales to live by, Corey."

Corey moved toward her, speaking passionately, "But you see, that's just it. They were saved. A man came from the shadows and saved them from their doom. Those Princes fought for their love, they stood up to their fears and defeated them because their love was true. You see it everywhere, in those old musicals. Judy Garland was in love with the boy next door for so long before he finally noticed her. They sang to each other about their feelings, and in the end they were married. Everyone always finds their one love and walks off into the sunset. Everybody's happy. Except me."

Angie grabbed his arm, stopping him, "Corey, that's all fantasy... that isn't real life. It's all about love over dramatized. You can't wait for something like that because it's unrealistic. There is no such thing as a Prince Charming. You have to let go of all of the shit that's clouding your brain and open your eyes. Look around you; it's not the end of the world if a man doesn't sing to you, or if a Knight doesn't come out of the shadows to rescue you from your sadness. Look at me; do you think I'm ever going to find a guy who wants a chubby little girlfriend? No. If I ever got to excited and hugged him, I'd squish him like an ant."

Corey let out a muffled giggle, "That's not true."

"You're right. It's not," Angie advised, "You were just so busy hocking bullshit, I figured what the hey, I'll join in."

"Bullshit?"

"Sometimes it's as if love is a planet and you revolve around it, totally unaware of yourself. It's the beginning and the end for you... of you. You can go on and on for hours about how terrible it is to be cursed, how you're certain to grow old alone, prophesizing a bleak future of hopelessness."

"I do not."

"Yes. Yes, you do... and while I'm sure you're destined to live some hyper-romanticized, Hollywood musical existence, just because it's not happening now- yet- you're consumed by the fact and you live and breathe self-" She stopped.

"Self what? Self pity?"

"I didn't say that."

"You were going to, though. You were going to say it."

"Self pity, self loathing, I mean pick a self-referential." She looked at him apologetically, but didn't continue.

"I like love." He said with certainty.

"Who doesn't?"

"It's my muse."

"It's your obsession, Corey." Angie asserted.

"No. No, I guess I'm just-" He stared hard at the dash, exploring his thoughts which were coming fast but made little sense to him. "I'm in love with love. It's my greatest curiosity. I want to see it, experience it in its most raw form, understand it... I write about love, hear stories about it everywhere... I don't even know what it is. I just want it to happen to me."

Angie rested her hands in her lap, "There is no difference between me and you, besides the fact that I'm simply willing to be loved by another, not waiting for a man on a horse to convince me that I can be." Angie took him into her arms; soaking him in, secretly wishing the moment would shake him, show him how she felt without her having to say it. She knew it wouldn't. It was a fantasy of her own, "If it's any consolation, I love you. I always will." Though her admission was vague, it felt good to say it knowing he could hear it.

Corey caressed her hair as he kissed her cheek, still folded in her embrace, "I love you too, Angie. If things were any different, I would've already found my lost love. I would pick you. I'm so glad I have you."

"Really?"

Corey leaned back, still holding her hands, "We're two of a kind, you and me. Of all the things I know, no matter what happens to me, or who happens... I'll always have you." Smiling, he opened his door and stepped out onto the grass along the curb, he looked in at her, "We'll do this again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, deal?"

Angie was overwhelmed, tiny pools of salty tears crept over her lashes as she tried to keep her chin from quivering, "Deal," She agreed, staring out at him.

"Night," he said closing the door.

"Good night," Angie offered quietly, even though he couldn't hear her. She pulled the car into gear, tears rolling down her lashes, dripping into her lap as she pulled away, overjoyed.

Corey watched her drive away. He waited until she disappeared around the corner before turning toward his house. He had never had a friend as close to his heart as Angie had become. She genuinely care for him, he could see that. He thought back to all of the people he had known back home. They were all kind, and considerate of him. In school, it seemed to be more of a social circumstance than a true friendship, unlike the one he shared with Angie. All of his friendships back in California paled in comparison to his friendship with her. What he actually believed to be true friends were merely acquaintances, a simple exchange of common kindness. What he and Angie had was the honest definition of a friend. A real friend. How rare that was. Sadly rare and so precious.

He strolled up the walkway toward his porch when he was jostled by a loud, high pitched whistling noise that sailed into the air, and ended with a modest crackle, then fizzle. He saw the smoke trailing up from a few doors down, hidden behind the lush Pines that separated the yards. Someone was having their own fireworks display right there on Harrington. His curiosity got the best of him, as it usually did, and he walked out of his yard onto the sidewalk. He stepped slowly toward the whistling, as one by one, sparks spiraled into the sky.

He glanced through the dark windows of each house as he passed before entering the shadows of the vibrant border foliage, breaking once again into the light of the street lamps that had laid in circular patterns upon the ground. As he passed another cluster of trees, he came to the edge of Thomas's yard. He stopped when he saw him sitting on the steps of his front porch. Between his legs sat a small plastic bottle, with a long, thin rocket pointing upwards inside.

Corey watched as he lit the wick and held it upward. It shot into the air screaming, and then exploded. He grinned to himself as he called out, "Having fun?"

Thomas looked up from his bottle. He couldn't see Corey's face, only a black silhouette surrounded by dim light from the street lamp. He appeared to be glowing. A vision.

He slowly came into view as he walked up the lawn, stopping a few feet in front of Thomas. "I heard your rockets. I wasn't sure if it was you or not." Corey said, putting his hands into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders, unsure if he was really welcome.

Thomas forced his attention back to his project, reloading the bottle with another firework, "Yep... it's me, just having a celebration of my own."

Corey watched him work, as Thomas flicked his lighter trying to keep a steady flame, "You missed the big show. The one at the beach, they were beautiful."

It took everything Thomas had to pretend he was uncaring, "I told you before, I never go to those things."

"Why not?"

Thomas lit the wick, but it died before igniting completely, "I've seen them before. It's nothing new. It's the same old show every year. I'm not one for monotony," he explained, still trying to strike his lighter.

Corey moved toward Thomas and sat next to him, "Well, it wasn't all that great anyway." He cupped his hands around Thomas' in an effort to assist with blocking the random gusts.

Thomas froze; his hands were soft and warm. For a fleeting moment he was frightened, but quickly he settled into that feeling... that strange, beautiful feeling. He looked up to Corey, just inches away, who offered a polite smile. He struck the lighter one final time and it began to burn, illuminating their faces. He hesitated for a moment before sending the rocket airborne. It whistled and then cracked somewhere above. They both glanced up trying to see where it blew, but there was only a trail of white smoke descending.

"You go with your boyfriend? To the fireworks, I mean?" Thomas inquired, attempting to busy himself elsewhere. He got another rocket from the package. His last one.

Corey stared at the house across the street. A huge American Flag swayed from a pillar on Lola Collier's porch. He had overheard Angie's friends, the three stooges, talking about her. She was allegedly a murderess; Beheaded her husband with a hatchet, then claimed insanity and walked away unscathed. He thought it odd how in the midst of this seemingly perfect world of Sadie, a little taste of the horrors of the outside world could creep in and survive.

"Corey?" Thomas summoned him from his thoughts.

"Oh, sorry. I went with a friend. Chris said he was going away with his family tonight, but when I was there, I conveniently ran into him. He had gone by himself." Corey didn't mind telling Thomas. After all, now they were both victims of broken hearts.

Thomas propped up the rocket stem along the mouthpiece of the bottle, "Really, why is that?" He didn't want to sound like he really gave a shit; he didn't want Corey to see through his thin veil of false indifference.

Corey folded his hands under his chin, "He was afraid people would see us together. He's not told anyone about the way he really is... he's ashamed of me, ashamed of liking me the way he does," He cleared his throat, trying not to let his heart override his self-control.

Thomas stopped toying with his fireworks. He knew that Corey was hurting. He glared at him and saw he was distant, deep in his mind, perhaps, analyzing the past events. "It's like you told me, right? You have to forget about him. It's his loss, not yours."

Corey stood up angst ridden, "How can you say that? It is my loss, Thomas. That's it. It's my loss, no one else's. It's always my loss. I'm the one left behind. I'm the one who loses because I thought that maybe, just this once, things could work for me. I thought I found someone who cared, but if he had he wouldn't have been ashamed of me. I believed that someone finally liked me, and I was wrong. He hasn't lost out on anything; he can have whoever he wishes whenever he chooses. I'm still alone," Corey argued, "I'm going in circles, you don't care about any of this. I'm sorry."

"Why do think that way? Just because you put your faith in the wrong guy doesn't mean you have to be alone. For Christ's sake, Corey, let it go and move on. Practice what you preach. There are other guys out there. It's a big world. Plenty of fish in the sea, blah blah blah..." Thomas sighed with frustration.

Corey pushed his hands through his thick, dark mane, and with evident disappointment said, "Forget it. You don't understand."

"Understand what? You got burned by some closet case, so what? You act like it was your last chance at love. If the guy really cared about you, he wouldn't be ashamed. There's no shame in love. Never."

Corey began walking away from him, "I should go. It's late."

Thomas stood and began to follow, "Be honest with yourself, Corey. The reason you're so hurt is because it didn't happen the way you expected it should. You have all of these great expectations for love and when it doesn't happen just like you think it should, you're crushed, you throw away all of your hope and just give up. That's weak, Corey, and you're not weak."

Corey turned to him, "You know what bothers me the most? He was ashamed... of me. Ashamed to be seen with me. I didn't pressure him, or make any demands. I gave up all of my great expectation for him. He was just there for me and I thought that was enough. That was all I needed. I knew he was hiding the fact that he was gay, and I didn't care because I thought that eventually he would see that I was worth telling people, I wanted him to see he didn't have to be embarrassed for liking me... but he was... he was and..."

"...And he was the wrong guy. He was just the wrong one." Thomas put it quite simply.

Corey turned back away and continued down the sidewalk, "Yeah, well they all seem to be wrong."

Thomas still pursued him, "Like you're all that experienced. You're so fucking dramatic. You talk about all of those guys who betrayed you, like you've lived a thousand lifetimes... who are all these guys?"

"Like Jason. I would've done anything for him, but he didn't want me, even if he did, he couldn't say it. Maybe I even shamed him. I shame everyone. I should just tattoo "Loser" across my face so everyone knows not to come to close. My curse might rub off on them," Corey ranted. "And I am not dramatic." He shot as an afterthought.

"Okay, Jason. Who else?"

Corey paused, spinning, "There was nobody else. Don't you see... that's just it... Romance avoids me like I'm the plague. It's afraid to invest in me because it knows that I'm marked for a life alone."

"I don't think you are."

"You don't?"

"Listen to yourself. It's almost sick. You are a drama Queen."

Corey twirled back to him, "Oh, screw you. I am not."

"You are. You really are. If your heart wasn't breaking what the hell would you have to live for? What would your day consist of? What would you possibly have to talk about? I bet the last few conversations you've had have consisted solely of this;" He pursed his lips mockingly, "I'm alone, nobody loves me, I'm forever unloved, no one will ever love me, I'm so unlucky, why does this happen to me, poor, poor pitiful me, the fates are against me, I'm cursed, I feel so sorry for myself I could send myself a sympathy card." He shook his head in disbelief.

Corey huffed in protest... "That is not true." And then he thought about it... it was true. That's exactly how he sounded, and the very focus of his conversation with Angie just that evening. His face filled with horror, he WAS a drama queen. "Oh my God." His shoulders fell, he was defeated.

Thomas frowned apologetically, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I was just..."

"You're right. I hate it, but you... I had this conversation once tonight. She was right. You're right." Having for once heard himself he hung his head with embarrassment. How could he not have noticed this before?

"I don't mean to offend you, but what's the deal with it. Do you think it's exceedingly romantic that you walk around with this self-imposed broken heart? Is that really necessary, I mean, to make that the complete sum of you, do you think that's the only thing that makes you interesting, to be lovelorn forever?"

"I didn't realize I was like that."

"Aren't you ever happy?"

Corey thought quietly. "I am happy."

"And what? It's against your religion to show it once in a while?"

"I do show it!" He argued.

"When have you shown it? When was the last time you were happy?"

"When I was with you I was happy." The air became still. He felt the color flush from his face, "I mean that I expressed happiness when we were together..." He wanted to crawl into the open sewer grate alongside the road. He deliberately looked away.

Thomas smiled, "I think you're a sweet person who's just hit a few bumps in the road of love. It happens to the best of them."

"They weren't bumps; they were hills... mountains that sent me flying into oblivion."

"They were bumps, to you mountains only because you exaggerate, and you always came back down. You recovered."

"How do you know?"

"Well, you had the strength to try again with Chris. You couldn't have been that far out.... and you'll try again, and someday, some lucky man will be able to call you his."

Corey wiped the tears from his face, "Think so?"

"I know so."

Corey felt a bit silly for bursting out at Thomas as he had. He must've looked like a raving lunatic. "I thought you didn't really like me anymore."

"Why would you think that?"

"The other day in town I was under the impression that you..." He paused awkwardly, "...You didn't want me around."

Thomas quickly jumped to his own defense, "No. That wasn't it. I just figured you had better things to do than waste a day with me."

Corey ran his fingers across his forehead, "I wouldn't have asked if... I didn't want to."

Neither of them spoke for a minute. Maybe it was because they didn't know what to say, or because no words were needed. They enjoyed being together.

Corey broke the uncomfortable silence, "Thanks for bringing back to Earth."

"No problem," Thomas stated kindly.

Once again, Corey turned away and headed away, "And for pointing out my drama."

"Anytime."

"Night," he called.

Thomas watched him walk away, farther and farther he grew. Then he ran to catch him, "Wait!" he yelled.

Corey halted until Thomas reached him. "I may as well walk you home, seeing as though we're already halfway there."

They strolled down the desolate street. There was no sound, no movement. "I must sound pathetic to you," Corey observed, smirking coyly.

"Well..." Thomas teased.

Corey laughed, "Shut up! It's a very sad state to be in, you realize. That two totally different people recognized a serious flaw in my character in one night is sincerely depressing, you know." He swayed once into Thomas affectionately, their shoulders collided gently. "What if I don't know how not to be this way? So uncommonly fixated with love. Obviously that's not normal. It can't be normal if it... if I strike people as weird." He sighed. "Not that me striking people as a bit odd is anything new." He waited for Thomas to disagree, but he did not.

"Do you think I'm weird?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"No, no be honest. Do you find me strange?

"Absolutely."

Corey gasped hard, his mouth dangling open. He came to an abrupt stop.

Thomas stopped with him, "Why do you act all insulted? You were just complaining about not being like everyone else, now you want me to tell you that you are?"

Corey remained startled by his alarming way of being truthful, it was rather merciless. "Oh my God, what's the matter with you? That was rude."

"You asked me to be honest!" Thomas defended.

"You have no social skills. There is nothing that is filtering what streams from your brain to your mouth, is there?"

"You preferred me to lie? Why lie? Being strange is not a bad thing. I detest the so-called normal people. There are, in fact, no normal people, Corey, only people who deem themselves normal like its some coveted title. You should be grateful that you are rather extraordinary... rather than simply ordinary."

"So am I strange or extraordinary? Because I don't think those are the same. Strange is a creepy old man who hangs around school playgrounds."

Thomas's shoulders drooped, "Why are you fishing for affirmation?"

Corey spoke emphatically, "I'm not, I just want you to clarify for me, after calling me strange, whether I'm scary strange or extraordinary, it's a simple question."

Thomas smiled with amusement and shook his head, "What does it matter what I, or anyone else thinks of you? You are who you are, nothing less. You need to start liking what you are instead of asking the world around you if you're acceptable. Stop worrying about gaining approval from everyone you meet. Just be." It seemed simple enough when Thomas said it, but he realized that what sounded easy wasn't always as such. "Don't let this guy call your belief in yourself into question. Love is supposed to empower you, not tear you down."

Corey appreciated his wisdom, and he could see the truth in his words, even if it came uncensored. Perhaps he was too far gone to react to vague hints or polite suggestion. "You're right. As smart as I thought I was, I suppose I still have a lot to learn."

You're just making your way like everybody else in this world. I think you're just too good to grovel over a guy."

"Apparently I really don't mind groveling. I guess... it gives me something to do." Corey said despite himself.

They strolled up the walkway leading up to Corey's front porch. Corey fished for his key and then inserted it into the lock. He and Thomas walked into the dark foyer. Corey started up the staircase, then stopped on the landing and when he turned, he saw Thomas standing at the bottom staring down at his folded hands.

"Well, night." Thomas said with a polite nod.

Corey grinned, "Thank you for... walking me home."

It was the way the dim light fell upon Corey's face. Partly engulfed by shadow, what a great portrait it would make. Worthy of hanging in the best gallery, just so everyone could see the magnificence he exuded. Thomas, with unconscious motion walked around to the other side of the banister staring up at Corey who seemed to hover above him, suspended.

He was devoured by his sheer elegance. His long, thin arms framed his delicate body. The way he spoke without uttering a sound, as if he were more powerful than anyone, and could say so much with only his eyes. Something so out of this world that it may even frighten a modern man who would think him to be a ghost, or even an angel.

As Thomas stared at him on the landing above, one hand draped over the post of the banister, he remembered a scene from film he had once watched. He searched his mind for the dialogue, and it came back with vivid clarity.

With his eyes glued to Corey, he began to speak the words of a song. "Over the banister leans a face, tenderly sweet and... and..."

Corey knew those words. They were from Meet Me in St. Louis. The scene when Judy Garland led Tom Drake, her hopeful love interest, through the house at the close of the evening. As she dimmed the gaslights on the stairwell he admired her beauty, perhaps for the first time, from below.

He finished his thought, speaking in a hushed tone. "...Beguiling." He grew quiet, drawn in by the moment.

Thomas took a step forward, "Beguiling."

The moment dominated them. It seemed far too perfect to be mere coincidence, practically supernatural, and their words did not quickly die, they resonated, echoed even. It was a surprise neither of them had expected, but it had enchanted them to the very core of their being.

"You know Meet Me in St. Louis." Corey concluded quietly, and with marked delight.

Thomas looked at him, his head just slightly tilted, his deep set eyes offering iridescent flecks of light. "School play... I controlled the soundboard. I had to listen to Abbey Grazer sing it about a hundred and fifty times. It was like satanic karaoke." Thomas whispered. "I guess the words stuck with me."

Corey stood lost in his presence, so absorbed by the etchings of his face that he didn't think to speak anymore. He could he have just stared at him, he would have without hesitation, all night.

Thomas forced himself to look away. He headed toward the door slowly, turning once, "I should go." he said hesitantly. He didn't really want to leave.

Corey jolted, his heart willed him to stay, but, he said not a word. He watched as Thomas opened the door, stepping out against the wind that rushed in, flowing against them both.

"Sweet dreams, Corey." And then he was gone, having taken a piece of Corey along with him.

The house was dark, as all of the houses on Wisteria Street were at two in the morning. She had left the beach at midnight, just after the fireworks show according to her watch. A walk that should have taken only thirty minutes had become two hours. Rachel found old corners of Sadie, places she had forgotten existed. The old Playground on Cherry Street, a faded version of it, anyhow, not as she remembered it as a child. It must have happened in the blink of an eye, when the world around her changed.

Gabe had abandoned her at the beach, disappeared. What initially might have left her sick with worry had instead aroused another part of her she forgot existed... a life before him. She couldn't have recalled a life before Gabriel Cavanaugh before. There may as well not have been one. As if he had breathed life into her, there was nothing prior.

But there was.

She opened her door, which her Mother had forgotten to lock, and crept inside. She laid her pink cardigan on the back of the desk chair and moved upstairs, retreating to the solitude of her familiar bedroom. Her girlhood haven. Teddy bears on white racks lined the walls along the ceiling. The Little Giants team flag hung above her vanity along with various school oriented paraphernalia, her pom-poms, framed awards, perfect attendance, honor roll, the coveted Lincoln High Spirit award. There were also her ribbons from throughout her school years, the Eighth grade spelling bee. Second place. So many little trinkets, artifacts from her past, notes of achievement that seemed to mean so much then, so little now, yet they were all around her, on display. None of those things represented her life today, nothing on the wall to mark her falling from the wayside. No award to commemorate the fearsome confusion that had befell her, no ribbon to remember this aching by.

Childish things. A little girl's playroom. She wondered if she somehow trapped herself in that place she once most favored, the wistful, uncomplicated world of a child. She had deliberately stunted herself, unwilling and afraid to change. It wasn't necessary; after all, no one had expected her to.

She sat at her vanity and stared at her own face, her windswept hair drawn back over her shoulders, her nose still slightly red from the cool evening air. It could have been one of the empty objects adorning the walls, her reflection; for it wasn't the careless child she had always seen staring back at her. It was someone else.

This was a woman, still young, but not who anyone outside her would expect to see. This girl looking back, she was changing, asking questions, needing information. No longer was she satisfied with other lives colliding with her own, people making choices that would affect her, things in her precious world changing... a world which she had ignorantly trusted to keep her safe, preserved like a child mummy. A child forever.

Gabe had changed, where once he was so protective, practically suffocating, now his attention was elsewhere. Perhaps it was merely evolution, no fault of his own. That he no longer wished to maintain a relationship with a child was to be expected. He had grown. She hadn't. Angie had changed, blossomed seemed a better word, from the withdrawn victim of social dismissal to a woman on a journey, no longer static, no longer satisfied with other people dictating her place in this world. Evolution. A quiet anger burned, that people had gone ahead for so long, lives in motion, and she remained the same. When would it be her turn?

She moved to her bed and undressed, pulling her nightgown from the wooden post, sliding it over her slender frame. She crawled beneath her white knitted blanket, between her fingers she toyed with the pink ruffles of her pillow case and stared into nothingness. What if she couldn't be anything else but a child. She couldn't trust herself; she had not the devices to survive in the real world, any place beyond Sadie. Who would take care of her out there? No one was reliable anymore, people were changing so suddenly, or had it been sudden at all? Maybe she had just been blind to it as she was too many things, unassuming, trustful.

She heard a knock at the door once, yet continued to lay still. It was undoubtedly Gabe with an apology. Anymore he had become so predictable in the aftermath. He would say he was sorry; she would smile and tell him it was all right. It was always all right. Only, now, her once unsuspecting mind had awoken, and everywhere she looked she found only madness. Why did he constantly have to apologize? What was happening between the moment of his crime and the apology that would follow? What was the antagonist? What wasn't she capable seeing?

The knock came again, harder. She sighed and kicked back her blanket. He was certain to wake her mother and it was obvious he wasn't going to go away without having his obligatory I'm sorry.

As she came to her door she slowly opened it. She was too late. She could hear her Mother's voice downstairs.

"Just a moment." Carol said as she moved toward the door. She pulled the ties of her red silk robe tightly beneath her breast. She wondered if she had locked Rachel out, who else would be at the door at such an hour?

She turned the latch and pulled it open revealing a young woman, someone she didn't recognize.

The woman looked at her desperately, her clothes were hanging in layers around her thin frame, she looked tired, like someone who had been up for days. She shook as she held her arms close to herself, yet it was not from the cold. "I'm sorry it's so late."

"Yes?" There was an air of concern apparent in her tone. She wondered if perhaps the stranger was sick, or the victim of an accident on their street.

"I'm Alice." The woman said quietly. "Does Steven Porter live here?"

Carol stared at her hard now; she could only take shallow breaths. "Yes."

"Are you his wife?"

She hesitated, but answered, "Yes."

Alice now looked at her directly in the face, a pleading expression embossed there, "Can you help me?" Her chin trembled. "Please."

Carol opened the door further, inviting the woman inside, closing the door behind her. She forced a congenial smile, but her insides quaked. She regretted answering the door, but she didn't know why. She found herself terrified of this woman, of what she would impart. Was Steven dead somewhere? Sick? "How can I help you?"

"Is Steven here?"

Carol shook her head. "No." She brought her hand to her throat and inhaled heavily, for some reason she became very hot. "He's away."

Alice's expression curled into one of pain and she stifled a cry. Carol could only watch helplessly.

"I'm so sorry." Alice said, bowing her head as she wiped her eyes with her sleeves. "I didn't want to come here, but I have no place else to go."

Now carol fell mechanical, she had turned off her emotions, numbed herself from the brutality of the situation. Something was coming. Something that could easily tear her apart. She knew. She knew...

"Why are you here?" She asked straight forwardly, now looking through Alice.

Alice lingered before her, studying her closely, assessing her character as best she could before uttering anything that she might object to. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen for her, this was not where she intended to be. It was a nightmare while awake.

"I'm- You see, I'm going to have a baby.."

Carol had no reaction, she listened but never flinched. She had no reason to ask anything further. She knew.

Alice was disturbed by her unusual calm manner. "Steven... He's the..."

Unconsciously, Carol took a small step backward as if distance would soften the blow. "Yes, I understand." Carol answered immediately.

"I didn't want to come, but he's not returning my calls and he won't see me, and I-" She began to lose herself in the retrospect. "I can't do this. I can't do this." She began to weep. "I'm sorry." she said again.

This wasn't altogether a surprise, in fact, Carol was only shocked that it had taken so long, but it was happening now. She felt like she were staring Steven in the face, directly into his betrayal, and it was like being impaled. It had walked into her house- into her very home and greeted her; his sin.

"I need money. I can't afford it, my father will never understand. I'm just getting my life together, I got my GED...

"How old are you?"

"Twenty Two." Alice answered; she took a jarred breath, "I didn't know he was married. He wasn't wearing a ring." She shook her head from side to side apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

She couldn't swallow, Carol tried, but she couldn't, her esophagus had constricted and was nearly choking her. "How much?"

Alice hesitated, "Two Thousand." She replied, "There's a doctor in Hartford and-" She stopped, keen to Carol's vacant expression, wondering why she hadn't screamed or called her a liar, why she hadn't hit her or thrown her out of her house. "You didn't deserve this." She began. "I- I don't know you or your life, but no woman should have to be where you are right now. No woman wants to be where I am. I know I messed up."

Carol looked at her once again, at the tears gleaming down her face, the dark circles under her eyes, trembling. She was a human being, whether a willing participant or not, she was not terribly unlike Carol herself, the consequence of trust, of expectation, of hope, all brought down to the very floor on which they stood. Destroyed.

Unnerved by her silence, Alice spoke; "You'll never have to see me again. We- we can forget this ever happened Mrs. Porter. We can go back to our lives and- and everything will be okay again, right? I never meant to do this, Mrs. Porter, I never meant to do this... I never meant to do this." She began to cry again, appearing more lost and alone than Carol even believed herself to be. She too, was afraid. She was no more of a stranger to Carol than she herself was to this girl, and the things she had been forced to say, with no other possible alternative, to the wife of soulless creature she had been abandoned by seemed to cruel for words.

He had done this to them, to both of them.

Carol stepped forward and took the girls arm softly. "I know." She said softly.

Unexpectedly, Alice embraced her, buried her face in her shoulder and sobbed.

Carol jolted unsteadily, her limbs hung loosely at her side as she listened to the sorrowful cries of a life gone terribly astray. This was someone's daughter, someone's child, not much older than her own; it could have been her daughter. Slowly, her arms came around the girl, pushing back her hair, and she found herself holding her.
nine

Any Love is better than None At All

Angie sat on her bedroom floor. Photographs and letters were scattered about her. She held a roll of tape in her hands and ripped off a small piece. She picked up a picture of Rachel, Corey and herself, all smiling with their arms around each other on their graduation day. She placed it onto the page and taped the corners carefully. Next to it she wrote; "My best friends." This was to be her chronicle. Her way of looking back fifty years from now and knowing what a treasure her life was. Filled with moments that would bring smiles to her face and those she told the stories to. This was hers and hers alone. Moments filled with laughter and heartache, confusion and epiphanies. "What a story," she thought. What a story it would be, yet unfinished. This would be a time worth remembering always. Her love for Corey, her cherished friendship with Rachel, her new found worth. So many turning points. Angie listened as a knock came downstairs. She stopped coldly and waited. Maybe it was Corey.

Her mother screeched up the stairwell, "ANGIE, YOU HAVE COMMMPANY!" She hated when her mom wailed like that. As though she were summoning her from a million miles away instead of from one floor up, loud and flat. She jumped to her feet and raced down the steps, she stopped on the last one, staring into the drawing room. All words escaped her. She had been thrown off by him... the way he sat there in her living room, talking to her mother, half smiling. Gabe Cavanaugh.

Her Mother sat across from him smirking proudly, "Look honey! A boy! And he's here to see YOU!" She exclaimed, ecstatic that Angie actually had a real boy coming to see her. Why was that such a shocker? Many boys had come to see her... a few at least. Corey! But he was gay. There had to have been at least one come before.

Her Mother looked fanatically at Gabe. Dottie Feldon was a large woman with bleach blonde hair and brown roots that showed her true color. She was in her puppy dog slippers, the ones she always wore around the house. Her long, black polyester skirt hung over her chubby ankles. Her white shirt had evidence of the tomato soup they'd eaten for dinner.

"Can I get you something to eat? We have appetizers and plenty of leftovers in the kitchen. How about a drink, we have Lemon Aid, Apple Cider, Grape Juice, Soda Pop, Iced Tea?" Dottie offered excitedly.

Gabe shook his head modestly, "No thank you, Mrs. Feldon, I'm fine."

"Well, how about a little candy. We have mints, chocolate bars, granola bites-"

Gabe cut her off, "No, really, I'm not hungry."

Dottie noticed her daughter's harsh expression. She rushed over to Angie who stood frozen in the entrance way and whispered, "Get over there and talk to this boy! You just stand there like a yard ornament; you'll scare him off, go talk to him!" She demanded.

"I don't want to talk to him, make him leave."

Dottie held her chest and gasped as she flung her finger in Gabe's direction. "You get over there now. He's a real boy Angie, he's come to court you, now hi-tail it over there!"

"He hasn't come to court me, Mother!" Angie quietly explained.

"Maybe not yet, but give it a little time. Just go in there and turn on the charm, sway your hips a little. Men like a little shake! She licked her finger and wiped a smudge of ink from Angie's cheek and then her by the hand and forcibly pulled her up to Gabe, who stood upon seeing her.

"Sometimes my Daughter is a little shy. It's not often a boy comes over."

Angie slouched embarrassed.

Gabe smiled at her, as if she would welcome a visit from this him. "I was hoping I could talk to you... if you're not busy," he said.

"I'm busy."

Dottie immediately spoke up on Angie's behalf, "Oh, she's never to busy for company. She likes to talk, too. Used to be we could never shut her up! Just yap, yap, yap all day long."

"Mother!" Angie scorned.

Gabe was obviously amused, "You have a little thing right on your face, just above your upper lip," Gabe noted, pointing out another ink blotch.

Dottie jumped, grabbing her daughter's face, "It comes off easy, you could bleach it or wax it. Rip the sucker right out, no one will ever notice it's there."

Angie pulled back in terror.

"No, I think it's a pen mark."

Angie wiped her face, glaring at her mother sternly.

"Oh, that," Dottie sighed relieved.

"Mom, please...." Angie begged.

Dottie slouched distressed. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to help her baby land this man. After all, she was eighteen now. Time to throw herself into the dating pool. Find a nice guy to take good care of her. Lord knows the poor girl needed all the help she could get. She did have a tendency to be rather introverted. She would toss away a perfect opportunity for a real boyfriend. Dottie had to stop her. It was her parental duty. "Oh, Angie, don't be so stuck up. Lots of girls have mustaches. Some just grow in darker than others." She looked at Gabe informatively, "You know my grandma had a big black mole on her chin... you should've seen the hairs sprouting out of that thing. Thick as wire, so long that when you looked at them, you'd swear they were smiling right back at ya!"

Angie grabbed her mother and led her anxiously away from Gabe into the kitchen. She turned to her impatiently, "Mom, why are you doing this to me?"

Dottie shook her finger at Angie, "You know darn good and well that this is a chance to have a boyfriend. I won't let you just throw it away."

"Mother, he's not even my friend. He's just some jerk I happen to know by coincidence. I don't even like him, and you're telling him about grandma's facial hair!"

Dottie was insistent, "That's how you do it, Angie! You get all the bad stuff out of the way first, that way it only gets better from there."

Angie huffed, trying to keep her cool, "Mom, Gabe Cavanaugh is a boil on the butt of society. He's heartless and cruel and a liar, you really don't want someone like that for me, do you?"

"Like I said, it can only get better, right?"

Angie's eyes were like saucers. She knew her Mother was overbearing, but intellectually defective as well? "Listen, you stay in here. I'm going to see what he wants, and please, whatever you do, don't make a scene. Just stay in here until he leaves."

Dottie pressed her lips outward, pouting.

"Promise me!" Angie barked.

Her mother held up her nose snobbishly. She looked around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. She resembled something of a three hundred pound bleach blonde child.

"Promise me!"

Dottie sucked in her cheeks defiantly ignoring Angie.

Angie grunted in frustration and stormed back into the living room. She approached Gabe expressionless, "We can talk on the porch." She said, walking past him toward the door.

He followed her outside. Angie closed the door behind him, spinning on her heel to him with an intrusive stare, "What are you doing here?" She spat bluntly.

Gabe cracked his knuckles nervously, "Don't kick me. Please, I know that you really hate me... but you're the only person I can talk to."

"Oh, well fancy that. Flattered, I'm not," She flared.

"I just want you to know I'm not a bad person. Sure I've gotten myself into a really messed up situation, and I've done some really horrible things, but I didn't plan on this happening. The things I do, they're not to be malicious," He explained.

Angie crossed her arms and tapped her foot thoroughly disgusted, "I don't want to hear your excuses, Gabe. I'm not involved in this; I don't want anything to do with your problem. Those are my friends you're screwing with and I won't be any part of you hurting them. Do you know how close I came to telling Corey?"

Gabe looked over Angie's shoulder and saw her mother peeking at them through a slit in the drapes. Angie noticed him watching her and led him to the other side if the porch.

"But you didn't tell him... you easily could have and you didn't," Gabe stated.

"It wasn't for you, Gabe. This isn't about you. This is about Rachel and Corey. This about what they have at stake. I'm torn between telling them because they're my friends, and keeping it to myself because I know it would hurt them. I don't like this, Gabe. I don't like lying to them. It makes me as sick as you are. Well, not as sick."

Angie's Mother flung open the curtains behind the dining room window they stood in front of. A smile was plastered across her face as she hollered, "Just letting a bit of light in dear!"

Angie began toward the other end of the porch. Gabe was close behind. "Okay, fine. This is wrong, I know that! What do I do, Angie? You seem to have all the answers; you're quick to make judgments. Tell me, what should I do then?"

Angie abruptly turned to face him; she examined the starkness of his face, his eyes narrowed in a pleading, desperate way. "You let them both go. You end it now before it goes any further; it's the only way you'll be able to save whatever dignity you have left."

Though his stare never left her face, he did not answer immediately. Only after a few moments did his breathe catch in his throat, choking around his words which came swift and almost apologetically. "I can't do that."

For a fleeting second, Angie actually pitied him. He was barely able to make sense of this himself.

"That's it then," Angie concluded expressionless. "You've made your choice."

Gabe pushed his hands over his face, through his hair, joining them at the back of his aching neck, "How can I choose between the girl I've spent almost half of my life with and the guy who brought me to life. No matter what I do, I lose one of them. When Rachel finds out I've been seeing someone else, she'll hate me. When Corey finds out I've been lying to him and I have a girlfriend, he'll hate me. Then what do I have? Nothing, Angie. I have nothing left. All that I cared about, all that means anything to me is gone," somberly, he turned away from her and against the breezes.

An indignant guffaw made its way from Angie's mouth. She shook her head as she crossed her arms. "I don't care what you have to lose; you deserve everything that happens to you. You will pay for this, somehow, someday, you will pay. Everything between now and then is just avoiding the inevitable. You cannot win here, this isn't a football field. You have lied and you have cheated and behaved like some calculating mon-"

Gabe shifted his stance toward her, "Don't- you don't even know me."

"I know enough. This golden boy, hometown hero illusion you have going on, I know that's not you."

"You're right, it's not. I never asked for that." He upbraided, feeling that her words were like weapons.

"You never asked for a lot of things apparently, but you've got everything you want though, no matter what it took, no matter who you hurt in the process."

"I MADE A MISTAKE!" It wasn't like Gabe to raise his voice. If asked, he most likely couldn't recall a time when he was angry enough to do so. Immediately he regretted it and reached for Angie's arm, "I'm sorry," but she pulled from his reach. He understood and withdrew his hand as he tried to redeem himself. "I made a mistake." He reiterated quietly. "I'm- This is not me, Angie. I am not the person you think I am. I don't enjoy causing people pain." He leaned into the banister and looked down at the chipping white paint on the wood below his feet. "I remember pulling down your skirt in the third grade."

Angie opened her mouth a bit as if she was going to speak but his statement had startled her to such a degree that it pushed back her words.

"It was flannel with a zipper up the back. You had on white socks and little shoes with a buckle on them. You always cut your hair in a straight line at the shoulder with the shortest bangs so it looked like you were wearing a helmet. I remember it was cold and Nathan Zolei and I were heading to the field with a group of other kids. You were standing alone with your back to us. I heard the others making comments, they were laughing at you, snorting. Jared Stock said he was going to hit you... with the baseball bat he had over his shoulder and the other kids made squashing sounds and prodded him on. I laughed too. Not because I thought it was funny, but because it didn't seem real to me. I was laughing with friends. When we got up to you I saw Jared knock you aside with his shoulder and everyone laughed. Impulsively, I came to my knees and I grabbed the sides of your skirt. They laughed more, patted me on the back, we took off running but I turned back and I saw you standing there crying, holding the waist of your skirt. I didn't mean to tear it. I wanted to go back to you, for a split second I wanted to go back and do something to fix it. Before I knew it someone called my name and in a matter of minutes I was playing ball as if nothing ever happened. Oddly enough, every time we have crossed paths, even all these years later, every time I see you I remember what I did to you, and I'm not laughing."

It startled her that he remembered the event from so long ago with the same clarity as she had. She had always imagined that he believed the incident irrelevant, or possibly something humorous he might share with his locker room cohorts. She felt her chin tighten as she struggled to remain impassive, but the glaze that had formed over her eyes betrayed her.

Gabe forced wind into his lungs and held it for a moment before expelling it through his mouth. He put his hands in his pockets and stood erect. "I know what you must think of me. I can't seem to find a happy medium with anyone anymore. I'm either, what did you call me, the hometown hero, perfect in every way, or terrible villain who deceives everyone around him. Neither role is for me."

Angie cleared her throat before speaking, "Nothing I can say can make your situation better."

He nodded respectfully, "I know. Ethically, morally, I know the difference between right and wrong. Good and Bad. My head knows this but my heart is trembling before God because all of the things I've been taught, everything I've believed about my life up to this point is in a state of perpetual conflict. I don't know how to make things right, because I don't know what that is anymore... I don't know who I am anymore." He said nothing more as took a step toward the edge of the porch where, staring across Angie's small lawn, he could see through the big cathedral windows of the Truzik house across the street. He wished he lived there. He wished he was anywhere but here, anyone but himself.

"Corey... hates me already, doesn't he?"

Angie stood solid, not moving, "You hurt him real bad."

"I am not ashamed of him... I'm ashamed of myself." His head fell.

Angie closed her eyes wishing she wasn't hearing this. She didn't want to know Gabe's side of the story. She didn't want be sympathetic to him. He was supposed to be merciless, apathetic monster. It was easier for her just to hate him instead of opening the door to more conflict.

"Look around us, Angie. This is everything we've ever known. It always stays the same, nothing ever changes. This is our life, we do the same things everyday, we see the same people, have the same conversations. It's like I want to scream and wake these people up. I never knew that there was more, I never would have if Corey hadn't come here. There are so many things out there, so many beautiful things, things beyond Sadie, beyond this very small, single minded orbit of living by default. I don't want to be stuck under the eyes of this town all my life. I want to do what I want, not what others expect of me. We can do that, Angie. You look at all of these people; their life is exactly what they've been taught it should be. I don't want to be like these people, Angie. I'm not like them, and Corey made me see that. There is more to my life than I believed."

Angie stepped up beside him, "I understand." How curious, she thought, that both had resigned themselves to living by default rather by intention. Each day to her seemed an inescapable prison, one that would never change, could never change. It was a fate readily accepted until someone had shown her there was a bigger picture.

"He doesn't take my calls anymore. He won't talk to me. I need you to help me... help me get him back."

Angie didn't reply right away, she held onto the railing of the porch and caught the drifting scent of her Mother's lilac bush in the front yard.

"You're on your own," she spoke indirectly, the disdain having all but dissolved from her tone, and then began toward the front door. She stopped only once, still facing away. "Just for the record," she paused, "I don't hate you." Then she walked inside.

Corey sat at his desk in his bedroom. His computer was on and his printer hummed as it shot out page after page. It quieted after feeding the last one through, and he took it from the machine looking it over carefully. He began chewing on the tip of a pencil as he went through his new poems. Most of them had come to him recently, whimsical little sonnets that tantalized his brain, gestating inside his mind, churning in his soul. He had become rather inspired over the last month, like every day held new offerings. Maybe it was Thomas that made him this way. They had, after all, been spending much more time together than they ever had prior. There were the smallest things about Thomas that sent him reeling. The way he would kind of smile, but try hard not to, or the way his hair always seemed a little messy, swept over his head, often over his eyes and he didn't care.

They were great friends, and it was okay with Corey. He knew he always fell too hard for guys- always the one to fall, so eager to jump right in and devote his self in hopes of having the same in return. He wouldn't do that again. He decided he was tired of being the lonesome suffering soul he had unconsciously portrayed for so long. He wouldn't let himself get plowed over by those unruly emotions. He would simply respect his friendship with Thomas, and expect nothing more. It was a great defense plan. Soon, someone will come along who truly likes him for once, and he'll dismiss all of his simmering feelings for Thomas, who will remain forever unaware.

Corey could hear the muffled sound of music coming from his Father's den. For a moment he ignored it, not realizing the tune, but when he did, he froze completely. That song... yes, that song, he knew it. Unforgettable, by Nat King Cole. That was his Mother's favorite. She would play it on stormy evenings and sit close to her husband on the sofa. It was the song played at their wedding. She knew all the words and would often sing along, singing to Corey's Father.

Corey stepped out of his room, quietly making his way down the dark hallway to the stairs. He walked down them as the music grew a little closer, more clear and riveting. He found his way through the moonlit living room and down another hallway, lit only by the light from the cracked door at the end and he pushed it open slowly.

His Father sat in his overstuffed leather chair behind his desk, facing the bookcases behind him.

"Dad?" Corey summoned softly as not to startle him.

Timothy opened his eyes and swiveled his office chair around, "Hi," he aimed the remote at the stereo across the room, fumbling to silence it.

Corey saw he held a small framed photograph in his hand. It was of Mrs. Evans, wearing a white dress and a straw sun hat.

Corey stood loosely in the doorway, "You okay?"

"Yeah son, I'm fine. Just thinking, that's all. I didn't disrupt you did I?"

Corey approached his desk, standing on the opposite side, "No. I heard the music. You haven't played that song in a long time," he observed cautiously. He didn't want to upset his Dad any more than he already was. Though Corey wouldn't mention it, he saw a pearl of water nestled in the corner of his Father's eye, to afraid to fall.

"Haven't heard it in a while. A little nostalgic, I guess." He took a deep breath, "Good old Nat, voice of velvet." He hurriedly placed the photo face down on the surface of the desk, fast to reapply his thick armor, "How's the new book coming? I heard you in your room typing away. Almost done?"

Corey was familiar with this show. If his Father thought that Corey caught him thinking of her, he would immediately pretend he wasn't. It irritated him beyond measure. Why couldn't he just let himself mourn her? He knew why. He was doing it for Corey. He figured it wouldn't help his son cope with the loss any easier if his Father were a mess.

Corey stood across from him now, and picked up the picture, gazing at his Mother lovingly as his Dad sorted scattered papers in front of him, purposely distracting himself. Corey peered up at him, "You don't have to do this anymore."

Timothy continued arranging his desk, not even offering an upward glance, "Do what?" He asked obliviously.

Corey probed him hard, "Pretend you're not sad." Mr. Evans slowed considerably, his expression deliberately transparent, he didn't want Corey to see how startled he was, "I'm not pretending to be anything, son. I'm just doing my best to get on with our lives. Wouldn't do either of us any good if I fell apart."

"You don't have to fall apart, Dad. You don't have to fall into a deep depression, laying in bed and starving yourself. You can remember her and honor the fact that she was your wife without losing everything you have. You think I expect you to be some kind of superhero or something. Someone who let's real feelings bounce right off on impact. I don't, Dad." Corey explained fervently.

Timothy stared at him through turbulent eyes. He hated talking about it. It was easier for him to examine things internally... alone in his own space. There he could attempt to understand. There he could be weak.

"I am your Father, Corey. If you don't have me to be strong for you, who else will. There's no one else left. This is my obligation to you. You should be glad that I'm holding it all together, letting you grieve her. What if you lost me? There would be no one else to help you through this."

Corey moved backwards, still staring him down, "I'm just saying that you don't cry for her, you don't talk about her. I need that. I need to remember her. That would help me through this. Not forgetting that she was ever here." Corey stopped as he backed into the open doorway, "How can you love someone for so long, take part in something so magical, and then let it go?"

Timothy jumped from his seat, leaning over his desk, "I still love her. I will always love her, but she's not here, and I can't tell her that. I have to deal with losing the only woman I ever loved and you sit here and accuse me of not missing her enough?" His breathing grew harder, "You have your entire life ahead of you. There's not much left for me, I've lived my life and now I have to spend the rest of it without her. So, don't you dare try to tell me that I'm not hurting enough... I'll be hurting until the day I die because the one thing I had counted on with every part of my soul is dead. I can never see her again. I can never talk to her, or touch her. It's over. It's the end, and if I stop to think about it, I'll disappear right along with her. Where will you be then? Huh? You'll be just like me when I was twelve years old and my Dad left me. You'll be all alone, and you'll spend your life trying to start all over because everything you cherish, everything you love... will be gone."

Corey daringly moved back toward him, "So what are you saying? You stopped feeling? Are you dead already? What? You can let her go and still celebrate the fact that you had her... you had her for awhile and a part of her is still with you, Dad. I'm still here. You're still here and she gave you years of life and it would be sad if you just threw all of that away. I know you loved her. I know she's gone. But I'm okay. I'll be okay because I know that she's still here, inside of us. It's not just Death. There was a life. She lived... she lived. Don't forget that. Stop using me as your excuse to hide your pain when it's okay to cry. Cry for her. She was here, she was my Mom, your wife. Don't grieve her death. Acknowledge her life by remembering it."

Corey grabbed the remote control from atop the cluttered papers on the desk top, pointed it toward the stereo on the shelf and pressed play. The song began, Unforgettable, Nat's voice like a soft and gentle rain.

"She's here now. I know you feel her because you were listening to it when I came in." Corey rushed toward him and pushed the photograph so hard it slid across the papers on the desktop and came to a stop in front of Timothy, "You can't just erase her. I won't let you."

Timothy was immobile. Every muscle in his body became blocks of cement. He was thrown off guard by Corey's aggressive behavior. Maybe even somewhat relieved. They were held in each other's intense glare. Corey simply refused to let this go on any further. He wouldn't let his Dad force a self induced acceptance if he wasn't ready. Had Corey found a love so beautiful, he would never forget it, no matter the circumstance, he would feel blessed for ever having found it to begin with. He needed his Father to know what he had. Corey needed him to feel what his Mother had left behind, because Corey himself assumed he may never find anything comparable to that of his parent's love for each other. That in itself was reason enough for living on. Real love never dies.

"We left our house. We left San Francisco. You can't keep running. Don't run anymore... please. It will be okay, we can help each other. We can keep her alive; together we can celebrate her life."

Mr. Evans was unresponsive, locked in his son's sight, he didn't utter a sound.

Defeated, Corey backed away again. He was disappointed in his Father, sad for him. He took off down the hallway and toward the front door, throwing it open. He moved against the wind and placed himself on the porch swing. He looked outward at the dark sky. That one star shined, perhaps brighter than it ever had, vibrantly casting its light upon him. "Mother... Mother," he thought. He pushed his fingers over his mouth, leaning back, exhaling. "I wish you were here. You would make it okay, I know you would."

Suddenly he heard the front door open. He watched as his Dad appeared, walking expressionless toward him, sitting down next to him on the swing. He didn't say anything; he just looked out over the lawn, up at the starlit sky, folding his hands between his legs thoughtfully.

"I guess I went about everything the wrong way. I tried to protect you from the life that I knew. When I was your age, I had no one to save me from the mess my life had become. I fought so hard to make my life the way it is today. So easily, I could have ruined it all. I didn't know any better, I had no one to show me the right way to do things. I went on instinct, and I was fortunate enough to have found your Mom. She was my savior. I never thought... It never crossed my mind that I could lose her too." He fell quiet, thinking, and then spoke with a frankness that he never had with regard to himself. "I am afraid, Corey. I don't know what's going to happen to us. All I know is that it's up to me to make sure you're happy. That's what matters most to me."

"I am happy, Dad. I'm happy with you. I'm proud to say that you're my Father. You accept me for who I am. I've never felt ashamed or different in any way because you taught me that no matter what obstacles I face in this life you'll always be right by my side, and you are proud of me. That means so much... I am who I am because of you and Mom." Corey leaned up, pointing skyward, "You see that star up there, the really bright one. I look at that and I see her. How she shined so bright while she was here. Now, she's just shining somewhere else, but she's so bright, we can still see her. No matter where we go, we just have to look up."

Timothy trembled as he gazed upward. He put his hand firmly over his mouth to squelch any sound. He held his breath, forced it back.

Corey saw it, for the first time, not weakness, but true human anguish. The consequence of loss. The proof of love. He wrapped his arms around him and held him close as he cried. He cried tears long overdue. What was happening now should've happened the night she died. The night one glorious spirit left this world, and those she cared for, bound for another.

The Cavanaugh house on Sunday Morning seemed eternally predictable. From his room, Gabe could hear his mother rushing about downstairs, barreling from room to room as Jimbo repaired the corners of the border in the living room that had begun to come unglued. He wouldn't say a word as she marched around him in a tizzy. "That's not straight. Don't Fall off the Ladder now. Careful with that paste dear. Have you put on weight?"

Through the floor he could hear Joy and Christopher in the Kitchen below. They were laughing over the fact that Joy could not pronounce the word Ambulance properly. "Abliance." she would say instead. Christopher would laugh and she would smack him, but he would make her say it again. She would refuse at first and then submit to the pressure. "Abliance." And he would cackle like the Wicked Witch. "Say it again."

Kayla had on the afternoon football game, she would stand up and give a victorious Woop-Woop each time Connecticut State made a touchdown and then announce the score around the house with her trumpet-like mouth. There were the usual sounds from outside, the wild birds chirping, a couple of neighbors talking across their respective lawns, something about the weather. Had it not been for the weather no one in Sadie would have any means by which to begin a conversation. He could hear the occasional car hum by, children laughing and yelling at one another as they played kick ball in the street.

Yet, despite all this, people forging ahead with their mundane lives with nary a care in the world, Gabe lay completely still. His head was covered by part of his comforter, his leg sticking out half bent over the edge of the opposite side. He felt unusually exhausted, unable to find even the most modest spark of energy with which to rise. The day itself would go on without him anyhow, it always did, and he had no interest in being apart of it. If he could just drift away again, where he harbored no control over his thoughts, he would be safe. Sleep, only sleep, saved him from his own mind. There was no regret, no repetitive inflictions; the same moments relived again and again, no fear of losing that which he most treasured, no more wondering if he had lost it already. The only clear notion that graced him was the sincere desire to stay asleep, stay in that room sheltered by those brick walls and simply fade away from the outside world. No one would expect anything from a man who was no longer there, there would be no one to disappoint. He wouldn't have to worry about hurting anyone ever again, nor would he ever be hurt. If he could only erase himself from the minds of those who knew him, if only he could erase himself from the world and just sleep, he would be all right. No Corey to keep in the shadows of his heart, no Rachel who he dare not let down, no mother to concern himself with pleasing or father to be religious enough for. No Sadie. Sunday Morning would be quiet then, in an empty house.

He heard his door open heard and then a startling blast against the ground.

Christopher neared the foot of the bed with a basketball in his hands. He let it drop once again, and on impact the sharp bang echoed through the hallow ball transforming into a high pitched chime.

Gabe threw his pillow at him without looking and buried his head in the crook of his arm.

Chris dodged it, "You're getting away with murder, you know that?"

Gabe arched his neck over his shoulder to look at him. "What?"

"Mom never let me sleep until two in the afternoon... and God forbid I miss church. I can't even get away with that now and I don't even live here."

Gabe's response came audible but muffled. "Then go home."

Christopher walked to the window and pulled up the blind. It rolled over the retractor, the seam snapping as it whipped around at the top. "Come on, wake up. We'll save Jimbo from mom's nagging and go play some basketball in the drive."

Gabe's eyes fluttered against his arm. "No."

"Yes." Chris smacked him on the leg hard, "You're becoming a hermit. You haven't been outside this house all summer."

Gabe didn't move.

Chris dribbled the ball steadily now, back and forth between hands, "You're just scared aren't you... There just might be one sport left where I can whip your skinny little-"

Mary, in the hallway, crossed the door speaking as she passed. "Don't say ass in this house Christopher."

He hushed immediately. "Sorry." But she was gone. He looked down upon Gabe, "You sick?"

"Yes, I'm sick. I'm contagious. Get out before you catch it." He turned the opposite direction.

Chris set the ball on the ground quietly and sat on the edge of the bed. "Okay, what's wrong." He waited but Gabe offered nothing. "Girl problems?"

Gabe sighed hard.

Chris grabbed his blanket and began pulling it off of him, "Let's go... I'm not begging you."

Frustrated, Gabe grabbed the corner of it in an effort to salvage what cover he had left, "Don't."

Chris wrapped it around his wrist and pulled harder. "I'm going to get you out of this bed."

Gabe held on with all of his strength, "STOP!" His body spun around as Chris heaved mightily.

"GET UP!" Chris yelled.

"Let go you idiot." He was pulled off the mattress landing hard on his back.

Mary swung in at that very instant. "Christopher!" She barked.

"What!?" They both answered as they turned to her.

Mary shot Gabe a curious look.

"I was just getting him up." Christopher said as he dropped the blanket.

"Your Father wants you downstairs." She said.

He did as all good children do when given an order and obliged immediately.

Mary stepped in toward Gabe, "Get dressed, get downstairs. Sloth is a deadly sin. You know that." She turned and stormed out.

Game pushed his hands through his tangled hair as he sat on the floor. So much for vanishing.

Martin Cavanaugh was sitting on the ottoman of the overstuffed red recliner, his children all posed around the room like props in a painting. No one was speaking. Gabe came around the corner and immediately felt the tension in the room, their faces, each of them, were drawn and pale, as if someone had died.

"What? What's wrong?" He questioned as he moved next to Joy who stood next to the bay window, staring outward.

Martin looked at the floor, but Mary, recognizing his weakness, his inability to convey the necessary information, spoke for him. "Your Father finished the financial report for the Church this morning. It seems..." She pressed her lips inward, biting the backs of them with her teeth to keep from becoming overly emotional. "... It seems we have to let it go." She nodded once and put on a fake smile.

Martin spoke now. "Aunt Mary's inheritance in almost gone. If I keep putting everything into the church we'll lose the house."

Joy moved forward, her heels clicking on the ground, the only noise in the room. "Jim and I have some- some money in the bank. We've been saving."

Martin shook his head. "Your nest egg. You are not giving that away. You two need it. You'll have a family of your own one day and you'll need it." He clapped his hands together once, took a deep breath, as if to cast it away, but his voice was weak, "We tried. We did our best. We got Thirteen dollars in the collection plate today. The Good Lord knows we just can't pay the bills with thirteen dollars."

Mary took his wrist to comfort him; she ran her thumb over the cuff of his sleeve.

Gabe inspected their faces. The church was his Father's dream, the source of his absolute joy. He was a Minister; with no church what would he become? It was his very purpose. He was supposed to be exactly what he was... how could he reason being a Minister with no one to teach. He loved that church and every one of the twelve members that attended, even those that didn't. It was his lifeline. His passion.

"Heaven." Gabe said completely unexpectedly.

Martin looked up and met him.

Gabe moved toward him. "There is no place closer to Heaven than the gardens. It's God's church." He recalled those very words spoken by Corey. "You could hold services there for the rest of the summer..."

Joy took Gabe's arm encouragingly, "Yes," she said at first quietly. "Yes, we could advertise, it would be something totally different, something unique. Church in Heaven. It would draw people in, you could use the collection money to pay the bills and maintain it through the winter months. It would reduce the cost."

Gabe smiled, "And since the church already owns it you wouldn't have to pay for the usage. You wouldn't acquire any more debt. Close the church for the rest of the season while we raise the money to reinvest."

Martin stood sharply, his face open with excitement. He held out his arms and moved toward Gabe slowly, then leapt the last few inches that separated them, landing in his arms, embracing him.

The room came to life as plans began to be set in motion.

Martin grabbed the sides of Gabe's face and kissed him on the forehead, then jerked him back, smiling at him with admiration and approval.

And Gabe felt contented, for awhile his troubles seemed miles away...

Rachel sat in the pine gazebo in the center of her backyard. It was a beautiful place, surrounded by yellow Honeysuckle, and reaching vines that had taken the wooden pillars siege. This was her special spot. The place she had designated as her own. When she was a little girl, she would come here to escape her mother's constant nagging, or simply collect her thoughts. On this sunny, Sunday afternoon, she retreated to the gazebo to be alone. Her mind was working overtime. She was looking back on her past, which had become habitual, wondering about what brought her to where she was. What decisions could she have made differently, and who she may have been as a result of them. There were so many things that she wished she could change, or maybe not change, but just see what might have been had the tides pushed her in another direction.

Rachel knew that the woman she was, up to this point, was a consequence of her past, of the choices she had made. You never think about the impact a tiny decision will have on your future until you're able to look back and witness it all from another angle. Such small things make up some of the biggest parts of your life. So many pieces to a puzzle all designed to link together somehow, someway. She understood that there were many new issues that would soon befall her. She would have to make the right choices, because everything she would say and do would prove to be the determining factor in who she was to become.

She found old Mrs. Winders floating to the front of her thoughts. Mrs. Winders was a stern old woman with thick gray hair pulled up into a tight braided bun that lifted her face practically onto her forehead. She wore old fashioned cat eye-glasses and possessed a rather threatening presence. She was Rachel's Piano teacher. Mrs. Winders had taught her from the third grade until her freshman year in high school when Rachel dropped her studies.

Every Thursday afternoon, at exactly four thirty, she would burst through the door carrying a leather briefcase and a handful of sheet music. Holding her ruler between her swollen fingers, she would firmly smack Rachel's knuckles if she missed a beat. She claimed that Rachel had a God given gift. She told her parents that her talent was to be groomed and nurtured, so she could become a successful pianist. She promised that she could get Rachel into the most esteemed piano academy in London, and before The Porter's knew it, their precious daughter would be giving concerts at New York City's famous Lincoln Center. Old Mrs. Winders probably said that to all of her clients. She undoubtedly filled their heads with false hopes, just so she could continue her practice. That was what Rachel had assumed back then, that they were the victims of trickery. Rachel didn't even want to play the piano, she wanted to do something wonderful, like go to Africa and teach underprivileged children, or join the Peace Core. She would dream about making people happy, touching their lives, and never being forgotten. She wanted to make a worthwhile contribution to society, and reap the benefits they would deliver, such as inner gratification, and the fulfillment of knowing that she had made a difference, even if just in one person's life.

Sure, that isn't the average thought process of a ninth grader, but Rachel was never average. Now she wondered if she hadn't prematurely dismissed Mrs. Winders attempts to mold her. If she hadn't passed her off as a lying old bag that was just really pissed off that she was degraded to teaching high School students the art of music instead of playing The Lincoln Center herself, would things have been different today?

Mrs. Winders was trying to make Rachel everything she herself had wanted to be, but never could... If that wasn't true, then where would Rachel be at this very second, had she continued on with Mrs. Winders? Would she be preparing to jet off to London in the fall, instead of New York? Would she have embarked on a completely different route than she was already on? Who knew? It was instances such as that that made her wonder... what if? What if?

At the time it seemed so frivolous and insignificant. It wasn't hard to decide to quit, but perhaps, that was, uncharacteristically mind you, the average ninth grader thinking.

On occasion, Rachel would still catch a glimpse of Mrs. Winders in town. Now the old woman walked with a cane. Her spine was permanently bowed from osteoporosis and her hair, once so full, was now thin and stringy. When Rachel would say hello, the woman would just ignore her, as if she had lost the ability to speak as well. Rachel knew she held a grudge, maybe even hated her. That was all beside the point. That was who Rachel was. It was where she had been. Now she needed to determine where she was going... where she would be in five, ten years. What if she ended up like her Mother?

Oh, the very notion made Rachel's skin crawl. She could just picture herself, a sad, middle aged woman attempting to fill her endless void with silly little trinkets from around the globe. That was what her Mother had been doing for as long as Rachel could remember. Though she was to proud to admit it, Carol Porter was an unhappy woman in an unhappy marriage. Rachel figured her Mother had never planned for a life such as the one she had. When she was Rachel's age, maybe even she sat down to look over her past and determine her future. Isn't it funny, how in the great journey of life, we set out for one destination, and end up someplace completely unexpected, somewhere we never imagined ourselves.

She pitied her Mom. Rachel never wanted anyone to pity her; she would never end up like that. It was unthinkable. She wanted a good husband. Not one that would spend days at a time at his office, claiming to sleep there, and eat there. No man works that obsessively. There used to be a time when her Mother would wait up all night for him to come home, and end up falling asleep on the sofa. They used to be affectionate, and proclaim their love openly for each other. Now they barely even talk. He stays away as much as possible, and she spends her days spending his money.

Rachel could never be like her Mom; even the thought of the lifestyle was exhausting. She would have to buy all kinds of extravagant oddities, such as her Tiki charm from Hawaii that's supposed to bring good luck. The Malaysian dream doll that brings your deepest desires to life. The herbal oils to ward off negative energies. She'd have to get scented candles for aroma therapy, countless meditation books to align her chakras, and cassette tapes containing the tranquil sounds of nature. Then, there's the post-it's hung in inconspicuous places around the house to remind her that, "You're a great person. You love yourself. Other people love you. You bring happiness to those around you." The vitamins for health. Having her bowels irrigated regularly and she'd have to see an acupuncturist. There was also Madame Fannie, the psychic who comes every Monday evening to foretell the upcoming week. That's not to be confused with Dame Helga who would come bringing urgent messages from the other side.

Rachel loved her Mother dearly, but the life just wasn't for her... besides, she knew it was all to distract her Mom from the reality that was staring her in the face. She was getting older, had an absentee husband, and was wasting away from neglect. Soon, her only daughter would be leaving her, and then she would truly be alone.

"Raaachelll," A voice sang loudly from the house.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder and saw her mother scampering toward her. She appeared not unlike Cruella De Ville. Holding together her pink silk robe, she raced toward the gazebo. Her hair was sticking out, like large stiff spears, from beneath a towel on her head, and her face was covered with hardened green clay. She scurried up the steps and grabbed Rachel's arms in a panic.

"Oh baby, I'm so glad you're here. I'm having a wretched day. I've fell asleep with my chemical mask on," She cried exasperated.

Rachel winced; she looked awful, "Well, just wash it off mom."

Carol's face fell, "I already did! It dyed my face green! What if it doesn't come off? What if I'm green for the rest of my life? Oh honey, I don't know what to do! Look at my hair! Make sure you don't use my elephant dung shampoo, It made my hair feel like a bale of hay!" She pulled off the towel and her hair shot upward in thick spikes, it looked like she had just licked an electrical socket.

"It won't clog my pores will it... you know I'm prone to breakouts," Carol badgered as her daughter applied a dab of foundation to a sponge and began stroking it under her eyes- a vain attempt to cover the green stains.

"It shouldn't clog you're pores, Mom. I've been wearing it for over a month and I haven't gotten one pimple," Rachel promised.

Carol looked worried, as if Rachel were about to apply acid to her skin, "Are you sure that's my color? Is my skin that light? My skin is darker than yours sweetie, don't you have anything darker?" She continued.

"Would you rather walk around looking like the bride of Frankenstein?" Rachel asked.

"Well, make sure you blend it good. I don't want streaks," Carol nagged.

"Okay, Mother."

"Shouldn't you be using your fingertips? I don't want to look tacky. Don't put it on to thick; I don't want it to cake."

"Yes, Mother."

"Make sure you don't miss any spots. I can't go around with polka dots on my face."

"Okay."

"Try to cover all of the green. Just in case your Father comes home tonight, I don't want him to know what I've done. He'll laugh at me," Carol pestered.

Rachel paused, pushing the sponge into her mom's hand, "Here then, If you're so worried about it, then you do it!" She scolded agitated.

Her mother drew back in shock, staring at Rachel, who had walked over to her window, gazing out. "Well what crawled up your cranny?" Carol inquired defensively.

Rachel didn't turn to face her. She was already feeling ashamed for snapping at her mother, "Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Carol stood from the bed, approaching Rachel slowly, "What's going on? You need to talk?" She inquired, her maternal instincts overriding her cosmetic fret.

"Why do you stay married to him?" Rachel questioned bluntly.

Carol didn't answer right away. It was quite a blow hearing her own daughter ask such a thing. "What?"

Rachel spoke over her shoulder, "You stay married to Daddy, when you know what he does, why he stays away."

Carol let out an uncomfortable chuckle, "You're Father is a very busy man, Rachel... His work demands a lot of his attention," She stumbled, trying to justify his absence.

"What about the weekends... or all of those nights when he never comes home," It irritated her that her mother would pretend to be so oblivious to the facts.

Carol put her hands on her daughter's shoulders, "You miss him, don't you?"

Rachel spun to face her, "No, I don't miss him... I am just so sick of watching you act like there's nothing wrong. You know what's happening, Mother. You know just as well as I do," Rachel hissed.

Carol stepped back, half afraid of the confrontation her child had presented, "I- I don't know what you're talking about, Rachel," She smiled, holding her hand over her throat, like she was suffocating. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for anything but Rachel.

Rachel lunged forward, furiously debating her Mother's false ignorance. Rachel was not stupid, and she wouldn't turn a blind eye as her Mother had. "I saw him in town, Mother... with a woman... kissing. He was kissing her like he used to kiss you. I know about that young girl who came here looking for him. These walls here, they're paper thin. I know you gave her money." Rachel's eyes welled with tears. They burned from being so intensely focused on her mother that she hadn't blinked.

Carol Porter shook like a dry leaf in a hurricane. She had no idea what to say. She had no excuse, no justification. Not for herself, and most definitely, not for her husband. She was ashamed that her daughter had found out. Rachel had learned what Carol had so desperately wanted to hide from her. She didn't want Rachel to be ashamed of her own Father. She wanted her to have a happy family, with fond memories and a stable foundation to grow upon, one Carol herself had lacked.

Carol may have considered herself to be a strong woman, but her daughter seemed intimidating, threatening the veil of secrecy she had so delicately woven over her. It rendered her numb from her head to her multicolored toenails. The humiliation was nearly unbearable. To think, her own child now knew her pain, the same pain she wanted to save Rachel from. She had let her down. After all these years of living in a seemingly picturesque family, Rachel had uncovered the dark realism that Carol had tried so hard to evade.

"Aren't you going say anything?" Rachel scowled, waiting for her Mother to react.

"What do you want me to say?" Carol asked, still acting as though it were just a casual conversation, though the trepidation in her voice was prominent.

Rachel began to cry as she walked to her bedside and sat down, "I want to know why. Why do you let him do this to you? How can you just pretend there's nothing wrong when you knew... all this time, you knew, and you never did anything about it."

Carol folded her arms, as if securing herself, bracing for her world to shatter. She always knew that if anyone ever found out about her husband's affairs she would have to contend with a certain degree of disgrace. Somehow, she never imagined this moment, and never expected to have her own flesh and blood to look at her like Rachel had.

Rachel did have a perfect right to be angry. Her Mother, the one who was supposed to help her through difficult times, the one who should've been a role model, had let her down. Every ounce of dignity she possessed had suddenly vaporized. Like little black demons grabbing at her feet trying to pull her down from her parental throne, laughing at her, voices inside screamed... "You're not a Mother. Your own daughter thinks you're a joke, and you are."

Carol wanted to sit next to Rachel. She wanted to put her arm around her and pull her back inside where she could protect her from the harsh truths. She wished Rachel had never found out, and she hated her husband for being so careless. He may not have had enough respect to hide his affairs from his wife, but from their own daughter? That was unforgivable. Carol had learned to tolerate the matter. She had even almost convinced herself that her husband would come to the conclusion that everything he needed had been right at home the entire time, and he would change his ways. Sure, it was just a fantasy, a pipe dream, but it saved her from going insane. Now, here she was standing before her baby, and feeling like this? How she despised him for doing this to Rachel. "Fine, Steven." She thought, "You may degrade me, hurt me, and embarrass me, but not to our daughter... you will not hurt Rachel. I will not let you do this to her."

Carol took a tiny step toward Rachel, "I just wanted us to be happy," she said sorrowfully.

"Happy? Mom, I know you can't be happy? How can you be?" Rachel seethed. "Don't you even say that you stay with him for my sake, because if you think that I can be like you and just pretend everything is okay... I can't. I won't."

"Rachel, your Father loves you," Carol consoled, trying to come to her rescue.

Rachel's face flushed. He voice grew grave, "He doesn't love me. If he loved me he wouldn't betray us like this. If he cared he wouldn't hurt us like this," She met her mom's eyes directly, "If he loved you, Mother... he wouldn't expect you to live this way."

It was so quiet, perhaps to quiet. Carol could say nothing. Rachel was right. If Steven loved her, truly loved her, if he even only respected her, he would never have left either one of them. It struck Carol like a bolt of deadly lightening. She realized Steven had left them. Sure, he did come home on rare occasions, but the reality of it was, while he may come back once in a while, he was gone. He had deserted them. How clever he was... gradually disappearing right before their eyes. Maybe that was his plan all along. He figured that if he was crafty enough, he could slowly erase himself from their lives until one day he would just stop coming home at all. That's what had been happening all along. It's been a well thought process, years in the making. Carol could remember when Steven would come home every night. Nine o'clock on the button. He would kiss her, hold her in his arms and cradle her. They would make love regularly, and he would whisper in her ear, "I love you, Carol... I love you so much."

When he got elected for County Prosecutor he began drowning himself in his work. He would sleep at his office, two, maybe three nights a week, but he would always come home, a box of chocolate covered cherries in hand, and he would make up to Carol by taking her for a night out. As time went by, their lovemaking sessions became benign. He wouldn't speak... he would just do his thing, and then roll off of her like she was a lump in the bed. He probably thought he had to keep making love to her just to appease her, keep her from recognizing the strain on their marriage.

Soon, he was lucky to make it home once a week. It was then that Carol took the initiative to do something about it. She was going to hold the family together if it killed her. She went to his office... she could remember so vividly. It was a Thursday. She had packed him a lunch and was going to surprise him. She drove into town, parked in front of the doors to the courthouse and walked in. He wasn't in his office. It was cluttered and smelled of stale cigar smoke. She laid his sack of potato salad on his desk and noticed his wedding band laying on a stack of papers. She picked it up and turned when she heard a noise in the bathroom. She walked toward it and lifted her hand to knock when the muffled grunts and labored panting grew louder. The door was open just a crack, and as she peered in, she saw her husband, and his secretary, Clarice Schuller propped up against the sink. Her skirt was pulled up over her fat, cellulite ridden thighs. His pants were around his knees, and he was pressed firmly against her.

Carol may as well have been reliving the entire event all over again. Her emotions were. She rushed out of the courthouse and took off. She drove and drove. She didn't want to stop, she couldn't because she knew if she did, it would give her too much of a window to think about what she had seen. She cried... she cried like she had never before. Finally, when Steven came home, he said nothing to her about it. She assumed that he didn't know she had seen him in the bathroom. Then he said something so odd... "Thanks for lunch... I was starving." He knew.

From then on things changed. He would come home with bite marks on his neck, lipstick still smudged on the corner of his mouth. Yet, Carol never said a word. She was still trying to figure out what she had done wrong so she could fix it. That's what she had been doing all this time, accepting his indiscretions believing that she was at fault because of her flaws. How stupid. How God damned stupid! Stupid for letting it happen. Stupid for blaming herself, and stupid for trying to win back his love. Okay, so he had cheated. So he flaunted it in front of her... but he could not victimize their daughter. He had exposed her to his lifestyle and left Carol to defend it.

Carol sat next to her troubled daughter who stared aimlessly at the wall opposite her, "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"For what?" Rachel asked entranced.

Carol pushed Rachel's long hair back over her shoulder, "I'm sorry you had to find out like this. I wanted to keep it from you because I knew it would tear you apart, just as it did me. I tried so hard to protect you."

Rachel glared at her, "Why do you let him do it?" She interrogated boldly.

"I was waiting for things to change. I love your daddy so much; I was just hoping he would start to feel the same way about me." She paused, trying to keep her composure, "He loved me once. I thought if I waited long enough, he would again," she expressed sadly.

"He doesn't love you, Mother," Rachel stated grimly.

Carol stood up, "You can't say that... he loved me once, he can love me again. People don't just fall out of love after twenty years, Rachel." She moved toward the door, "People get bored, they get older and scared. It happens to people. It's called a midlife crisis." Carol started out of the bedroom as Rachel leapt from the bed and charged after her.

"Listen to yourself. Is that what your psychic saw in her crystal ball? Did she tell you that? It's a fact of life, Mom. People do fall out of love. He fell out of it with you and you just refuse to face it," Rachel scowled as she followed her Mom down the stairs.

"He never said he didn't love me. We're his family. Families stick together."

"So what are you going to do? Sit here and wait like some pathetic victim? Are you going to spend the rest of your life feeling guilty because he's out screwing the entire town? Will you try to forget, maybe go get irrigated again, hopefully it will wash away all the problems right along with the rest of the shit."

Carol tried to ignore her as she tried to get away, "I don't want to hear anymore, Rachel. Just stop it, right now!"

Rachel continued after her, "That's right, Mom, if you just don't look, you can pretend it isn't happening. Then you can tell yourself that your husband isn't a lying cheat!" Rachel yelled impatiently as they stopped in the large hallway downstairs.

Carol turned to her and screamed back, "He's your Father and I will not let you speak that way about him!"

"He's no Father. No Father would do this!"

"You're a kid you don't know anything about life, or love!"

"I know that if you love someone you don't fuck someone else behind their back!" Rachel flared.

"He doesn't do it behind my back!"

"Oh, so he's fucking them in front of your face, does that make it any better?"

In the heat of the intense argument, Carol struck Rachel across the face. Without hesitation, perhaps just a reaction, Rachel struck her back. They were both stunned. Carol had never hit Rachel before, and Rachel never dreamed she'd strike her Mother. They didn't say anything to each other for a moment; they were busy recovering from their respective shock.

On the verge of tears, Rachel made herself heard, "He knows that you love him, he knows that you'll stay. He thinks he can do whatever he wants, throw it in our faces and we'll just smile and nod like it's perfectly acceptable. Look at what he's done to you... to us."

"I never thought it was okay, Rachel. I never just accepted it. I was trying to understand. I was trying to put my finger on that second when it all changed, the moment when he stopped loving me. I thought that if I could do something to help him see how I felt, if he could see how I was hurting inside, maybe he would stop, and things would go back to normal. We would be a complete family again," Carol's cries began to collide with her words as she continued, "I wondered what I had done. I thought it was me. I blamed myself. I held myself responsible. I was the reason I lost him. It was my fault my daughter didn't have a Father anymore. I wanted you to be proud of me, Rachel. I wanted you to be proud of your family... I didn't want you to hate me for losing it all... I worked so hard to keep it together, but I couldn't. I couldn't keep us together," Carol sobbed loudly. It was the first time she had said it out loud. It was such a blow to her system, the burden that had lifted weakened her, breaking her down as she fell to her knees on the last step. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," She wept.

As Rachel looked down upon her collapsed Mother, she understood that she was staring at a mirror image of herself. Working so hard to keep things on the right track, and when the slightest detail goes astray, she blamed herself. She would apologize and beg for forgiveness, even if she wasn't necessarily at fault. They were one in the same.

Rachel knelt down before her Mother and took her into her arms. "Don't let him do this to you. We can be strong... together we can make it through this. Me and you, Mom... we're a family." She held her Mother in her arms, letting her release years of torment that had built up inside. Rachel knew they were alike in so many ways. Had she not made up her mind at that very moment, this was what she would have become. The sufferer of sadness. The consequence of desire. She had been where her Mother was. Idealizing the way things would be, needing to understand why it wasn't, and then punishing herself for being incapable of making it so. Somehow, always believing she was inadequate, and desperately trying to make up for it. People have dreams. They see things so dynamically. They see wonderful things that supply them with the motivation, the fuel that's required to survive. It's a light deep inside, shining so fully on what is to be. You believe in that. You set your heart on those dreams and pursue them at all costs. Rachel and her Mother had dreams, but had unwillingly lost sight of them. They had been reduced to playing supporting roles in someone else's life. Carol would have given her very life to turn back the hands of time and hold her husband again... have him hold her. He had become her life force; she fed off of his existence instead of placing herself center stage. She had become co-dependent on her surroundings, letting her life live her. They had become lost on another person's sea, following another person's map, and when their leader made a U-turn, they found themselves lost. It was there they found their common ground.

Two women, mother and daughter, brought in by the tides of an ocean of sorrow, destined to regain all they had lost; their strength to stand on their own, their courage to move on.

The later it got, the worse he felt. It was as if the minutes that passed, leaving forever, tortured him. Each flash of the digital numbers meant another minute without Corey, another minute he could never get back. Gabe wanted so desperately to sleep, but found no comfort in any position. He glanced over to his telescope that sat against the glass of the window. Was he still up? No matter if he was or not, he had to see him. He had to see him now. He could not let one more moment pass without being close to him, knowing he belonged to him.

He leapt from his bed and rushed to the window. Corey's light was still on. The street was empty. All of the other houses were dark. Gabe raced to his bedroom door, opened it just a crack, and peered down the shadowed hallway. No one was in sight. He crept across the wooden floor, careful not to make a sound, and with the savvy of a thief, made his way down the staircase and to the front door where he turned the lock and handle with the ease of a feather. Once it was open, he walked out, closing it quietly behind him.

He ran across his front yard onto Corey's lawn, keen to every sound he heard, every movement made around him. And now, he stood below his bedroom window. There had to be some way he could get his attention without waking his father. He scanned the yard for pebbles, something that would draw Corey's attention... Something that would let him know he was there.

Corey rested on his side. The radio played at a low volume on the night stand, a song he knew the words to, but couldn't recall the name. In his head he sang along. One of his bizarre talents was knowing the lyrics to old songs by heart- that and television theme songs. While he hadn't even been thought of in the 50's and 60's, the radio was a constant presence in the Kitchen back home. His mother would sing into her soup ladle while doing her best Elvis impersonation for him.

Although he could feel his eyes growing heavy, it made it difficult to sleep, for the temptation to sing along was simply too great, and of course, he would have to submit if a really good song came on. However, despite his quirks, he was just too exhausted to move... and even had he been able to, he wouldn't. Every song that played brought thoughts, floating images so precious, of Thomas. He turned on his back laying his arm over his eyes.

After throwing four small stones and successfully hitting Corey's window sill, Gabe had still not roused him. He was getting flustered. He figured perhaps the stones were too small, and did not have enough weight to make enough of an impact to bring his beloved to the window. He needed something bigger... not a stone... he needed rocks. He scurried toward the flowerbeds that lined the sidewalk and began rummaging though the soft cedar bedding gathering large shimmering, decorative rocks. After finding himself pleased with their weight and size, he rushed back to the window, took the first one in his fist and launched it upward. It hit the side of the house hard, so hard that it echoed across the empty night.

Startled, he threw himself into the bushes, certain that he had woken Corey's Father.

Corey flew upward, staring at his open window from his bed. His expression became drawn with distinct curiosity.

Gabe waited a moment, and then once he felt assured that no one had heard the ruckus, he emerged from the bushes glaring up at Corey's window. "Corey!" He called with a strained whisper that almost hurt his throat. "Corey!"

Discouraged, he took another rock into his hand, and made certain to throw it a bit softer than before.

Corey moved to the side of the bed, wondering if he was hearing things. He could have sworn he had heard a slight trace of his name carried on the breeze, but wasn't absolutely positive. He knew his mind sometimes manifested things... He didn't believe he exaggerated at all... He just thought bigger than most people, and he wondered if this might just be one of those instances where his thoughts had projected themselves outward.

And then a rock tumbled over the window sill and rolled along the floor stopping directly at his feet... He looked at it for a moment, as if a bit struck by the pure strangeness of the fact. Then, for sure this time, he did hear his name. Someone was outside.

"Corey," Gabe strained again as quiet as possible. He had one last rock, and he had to make it good. He gathered all his strength, focused on the window, drew back his arm and launched it forward just as Corey came into view peering downward.

It was too late to stop, and immediately Gabe winced as the unaware Corey stood right in the line of fire.

THUD was all Gabe heard as Corey fell from sight after being bashed head on.

"OH GOD!" Gabe squalled in utter horror. "Oh God, I'm sorry! Corey?"

Corey blinked a few times wondering what had just happened. He could feel the knot developing directly between his eyes, and already it ached. Slowly, a bit disillusioned, he rose to his feet, staggering just slightly.

"Are you okay? Answer me! Corey? Corey?" Gabe pled from below. He was so angry with himself... he came to confess his every emotion and instead bludgeoned him to death. What was wrong with him? He felt a wave of relief as once again, Corey appeared at the window.

"Are you going to throw anything else?" Corey asked with serious concern.

"Are you okay?" Gabe asked nervously.

Cory nodded sleepily, "What do you want, Chris?"

"I want you..."

Corey rolled his eyes. Gabe continued "I want you to know I'm not ashamed of you, Corey. I'm not ashamed that I love you... in fact it's the best thing.. NO! You! You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don't want to lose you."

Corey didn't say a word. He just looked down upon this man, who from where he stood seemed so small. He knew that this world was a difficult place for someone like Chris... someone trying so hard to negotiate his reality with his feelings, and for that he felt so sorry for him.

Gabe stepped forward, "Please Corey. Everything is so screwed up. I am fighting so hard right now to keep the one thing in my life that means something. I know I love you, and I know you said before that you felt like you were meant to be unloved forever, but I'm your proof Corey... I'm your living proof that you are wrong. I love you."

Corey took a deep breath, "Chris, I can't. I'm sorry." The silence grew heavy. "Go home."

Gabe took a step back; it was perhaps more clear now than it ever had been before, the fact that he could lose him forever. "Corey, I know I have done some terrible things. I just..." He paused, "There are things in my life, things that I love so very dearly, things that I have always believed in with every fiber of my being that conflict with what I feel for you. I know that you can't understand this, I know you've never had anything to hide, you've never had to be afraid... but when you walked into my life, that's when everything changed for me, I didn't know how to handle it.... I made some stupid decisions, but I know now what's important to me. I know you are important... I know I need you in my life because," he swallowed hard, taking a step back once again to see Corey more fully, "Because you make things okay."

Corey tried hard to be discerning, and knew that Chris was fighting a battle that was incredibly trying, and he knew he had to be sympathetic to that... but he could not, in good conscience, be the one single element that challenged Chris's entire structure, and perhaps compromise that. "Chris, I can't be your secret. I won't."

"You're not my secret. Corey if I could scream from the highest mountain I would. That's how much I love you. Don't you see? Corey, I love you. We are meant to be together, don't you get that? Me and you. This is fate. I promise you, no one else will ever love you as much as I do. Maybe no one else will love you at all. You said so yourself."

For a fleeting moment Corey found it difficult to breathe. What if Chris was right? He knew Chris loved him... no one else ever had. Perhaps no one else ever would. It was the possibility he had pondered many times, even feared and tried to deny. Why, if ever a man offered his love, would he denounce it? Perhaps Thomas and Angie were right. He sought to make himself a victim of a loveless life.

Gabe felt his emotions swelling, and hoped that he wouldn't break down. His weakness was overwhelming as he watched Corey vanish from the window. "Corey?" He said, his voice cracking from the instability in his breath. "Please," he began to sob. "Please." he said again. "Don't leave me."

And then he heard the front door open. He looked up as Corey stepped out onto the porch, watching him with a receptive eye. They just stared at one another for a few seconds, then Gabe took a step forward... and fell to his knees wrapping his arms around Corey waist, crying as though he never had before, trembling as though he were feeling fear for the first time.

Corey stared out into the distance... at nothing in particular, just a place to rest his eyes. He could learn to love Chris. He wondered if, perhaps, he hadn't been sensitive enough to his circumstance. He wondered why he ever believed he could say no to someone who wanted to love him. It was just as Angie had said... he had set the bar too high. It was this night he said good-bye to his fairytale. To the dreams of being swept away.

After all.... any love is better than none at all.

ten

A Midsummer Night's Sorrow

Summer brought little change for the people of this seaside village. However, the days did seem to pass more quickly, though they were longer. One standing outside this place of moderate beauty and simplicity would likely believe their only interests laid in accommodating the seasons and celebrating them accordingly, for to someone outside looking in, nothing much else ever happened.

It was about eight o'clock on this Thursday evening that Corey, Angie and Rachel had gathered at the Porter house for their weekly game of Life. It had become something of a ritual, something to look forward to; Carol Porter's fresh lemonade, good conversation. The stereo tuned to an Oldies station, of which Corey had successfully turned them all on to, and the company of each other.

They were crowded around the coffee table in the living room, with the board game spread atop it. Angie winced as she spun the dial, and they all watched her closely, rather amused by her desperate expressions. She had once heard that this game was prophetic, and its design was similar to tarot cards. Despite Corey and Rachel's attempts to appease her worries, assuring her it was just a game, her eyes still tightened, and her lips curled inward during her turn.

"Nine. I got nine! Where am I?" Angie forced nervously as Rachel moved her blue plastic car to its destination.

Rachel smiled, "Angie! You had another baby! Congratulations!"

Angie sunk backward for a moment, extreme disappointment swelling in her chest, then she sat sharply erect. "I have five kids! I can't have five kids! Kids don't even like me! This game is stupid. This is nothing like life. They should have spots that say 'Lose twenty pounds.' It would be more realistic. I think we should quit!"

Corey grinned without looking at her. Though he wouldn't admit it, he looked forward to her turns, just to witness her humorous reactions. He took his turn and squealed upon landing on Angie's previous mark. "I had a baby too!" Angie glared at him through contemptuous eyes, "Congratulations Corey. But isn't it odd that you're the only one of us who, in all the time we've been playing, has never gotten married ONCE?" Corey stared at her with a blank face. Omigawd! She was right. Everyone else had been married dozens of times, and he had not gotten hitched once. What if this game was a fortune telling oracle? He didn't want to be alone forever! As fast as he could, before anyone could stop him, he proceeded to fold up the game, "Okay, let's quit!

Rachel moaned loudly, "Oh, come on! Corey, don't listen to her! It is just a game." She shot Angie a glance, "I can't believe you guys. This is not a Ouija Board."

"I'm not taking any chances." Corey retorted in half a panic. "I refuse to be a raggedy old spinster, even in fun."

As if on cue, Carol entered from the kitchen carrying a tray with four glasses upon it, filled with her famous lemonade. They clamored around Mrs. Porter in great appreciation.

"You're done with your game already?" She said surprised, as they all took their glasses. Again, they all planted themselves around the table. Corey and Angie sat on the floor, at the opposite ends, while Carol sat on the sofa, opposite her daughter.

"I kept having babies that I didn't want," Angie complained.

"I never got married. I don't want to be a hag." Corey followed.

Rachel rolled her eyes, "They are afraid it'll come to pass. Paranoid." She spurned as she took a sip of her lemonade.

Carol leaned forward, smiling gently upon her young counterparts, "One thing I have learned over my forty-" She paused, biting the inside of her bottom lip, "Thirty-Nine years, is that fate is what you make it. Life is what you make of it. You make decisions, choices that affect you, but essentially, we are the maestro of all this mayhem."

"I agree," Corey replied, "Bravo," he added, holding up his glass.

"Let's have a toast," Angie suggested excitedly.

"Good idea Angie, what do you wish for? What is your toast?" Carol encouraged.

Angie thought for a moment, looking slowly into each of their open faces, keenly aware of the comfort she felt in their presence. "Here's to friendships... that will last forever."

They smiled at her in unspoken approval and drank to her toast.

"I have one if I may." Corey requested quietly."

"Go for it Corey Baby." Carol urged loudly.

"This is to love. True love. May it find us someday, and bring never-ending happiness and fulfillment! That's all." He drank quickly, feeling rather awkward for being so verbal with his inward desires. He did not notice Angie's eyes upon him, inspecting him closely, pondering his words.

"I'll drink to that." Rachel sang happily, taking a small sip, then raised her glass once again, "I toast the future. Wherever it may take us, wherever we end up, may we always remember these moments together. I know I will."

Carol stared at her daughter with true contentment. It was the first time she had noticed how grown up Rachel had become. How her daughter had changed while she, herself, was busy trying to avoid participating in life at all. What her eyes rested on now, this face so much like her own, this was all that really ever mattered. Her happiness was all that should've ever occupied her thoughts. And yet, she knew Rachel had become who she was with no thanks to her mother. Carol knew that she was absent from much of this girls life, not physically, but emotionally.

Now, gazing upon her, she found herself proud of her child. Proud of her strength, her posterity, and her love. Rachel loved her mother despite her inadequacies, bore no grudge... that, in and of itself, made Carol realize that Rachel had perhaps become the woman that she, herself, had always wanted to be. What more could a mother ask for?

"I would like to add something," Carol declared, her eyes still fixed on her daughter who now met them. It was silent for a moment, as the two women gave each other quiet regard. Carol continued; "You all have hope, which is something that is very difficult to keep as time goes on, but I know in my heart, you will be strong, confident, and just as lovely as you are right now." She was speaking directly to her daughter now. "You are everything and more than I always wanted you to be. I know that one day, when you are older and life seems to move like a passing train, fast and loud, that you'll be just as proud of who you are as I am now." She held out her glass, and Rachel, understanding and appreciating her Mother's meaningful words, tapped the edge with her own glass.

They were startled by a jostling of the front door. It immediately broke them from their focus, and they turned simultaneously. Steven Porter walked inside loosening his tie, looking rather rugged. He had circles under his eyes, and was noticeably unshaven.

Carol stood from the sofa, her muscles tensing as if he were a stranger entering her home. She did not speak, yet shot her daughter a trepid glare.

Both Corey and Angie noticed the sudden rise in emotion, which was not unlike a distant rumble of thunder, a precursor to a devastating storm looming on the horizon.

Steven tossed his briefcase onto the floor beside the desk, whipping off his tie. He did not do much to acknowledge the attentive crowd; only cast a dismissive eye in their direction. "I'm going to lay down Carol. Bring me a cup of coffee." He demanded in a gruff manner, as if she were not his wife, but a simple maid servant who he expected to instantly comply without question. He started up the steps, "It's too late for company Rachel. Tell your friends Good night." He added as he vanished from sight.

Corey looked back and forth between Rachel and Carol, who both seemed frozen in their respective positions, saying things that only the other could hear. Corey knew something was happening. He jumped to his feet, widening his eyes as he found Angie, hinting at her to move. "We have to get going anyway. I'll walk you home Angie." he prodded as he approached her. "Thanks for the lemonade Mrs. Porter."

"Next time let's just play Monopoly." Angie suggested seriously as Corey took her arm, ushering her away.

Rachel broke from her trance and followed them the front door. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." She said, before kissing them each on the cheek. Though she attempted to behave naturally, they could both see something laid beneath her act, something they could not put their finger on, but was definitely there. Though her reservation dismayed them both, they smiled at their friend, and they left.

Steven pulled off his leather shoes as he sat on the edge of the bed. They ached something awful, and he figured he was due for another pair. He rose and began unbuttoning his shirt, walking over to the oak chest of drawers. After removing his shirt altogether, he tossed it into the clothes hamper in the corner of the room and yanked open the top drawer for a fresh undershirt only to find it empty.

"What the-" he said aloud.

He pulled open the second drawer. Empty. The third drawer. Empty as well. He stopped cold, trying to grasp this odd notion. He scratched his head and then stormed over to the closet, throwing open the wooden door so hard the handle hit the wall behind it. Hangers dangled naked in front of him. All of his clothes were gone.

"CAROL!" He shouted, his voice cracking. It was then he noticed the white sheet of paper taped to the inside of the closet door. A large red arrow had been drawn on it, pointing toward the opposite window, and just as planned, he followed it... He ripped the paper in two and darted out of the room. Why were all of his belongings... everything he owned... books, clothes, shoes, even his desk chair, floating on the surface of the swimming pool?

Carol came from the kitchen carrying a cup of hot coffee, cream and sugar, just as he preferred it. She heard him trampling across the floor and down the stairs where she met him at the bottom with a smile. "You're red as fire dear. Watch your blood pressure." She noted in a high pitched, pleasant voice.

The only fire was in her husband's eyes, "Why the hell are my clothes in the pool?"

Carol giggled quietly, "Gracious Steven. If looks could kill, I think I'd be dead right now."

"Answer my God Damn question Carol. What are my clothes doing outside in the pool?"

Carol spun, quite pleased with the control she was exhibiting, and feeling no tendency toward anger. "I was cleaning up a bit. That's all. You know how you hate a cluttered house." She started toward the center of the living room.

Behind her Steven seethed, "You have gone absolutely fuckin' nuts, haven't you?"

Carol turned, grinning, "Actually, I think I'm finally getting it all together. Isn't it funny how, one day, you just open you're eyes and you see nothing but... but... Trash."

"What? What are you talking about?"

Carol sat the coffee down upon the table, "I guess I'm a collector, I don't know. I have all these things that I don't need... I thought I needed them at one time, but they just sit here, gathering dust. Trash. Garbage. So much garbage. Things just taking up space, serving no purpose." She stepped over to the mantle above the fireplace, staring up at their wedding portrait, the centerpiece of Rachel's photos. She looked back at him over her shoulder, "Isn't it odd how your tastes seem to change?" She reached up and took down the portrait.

"What are you doing?" Steven asked in a panic.

"More garbage. Cleaning house!" She started back into the kitchen, heading to the back patio door. "Time for a change, don't you think?"

Steven followed her closely, as if on a leash. "That's our Wedding picture, Carol!"

Carol pulled open the door, and stepped outside, moving toward the pool, "Yeah but it's ancient. It seems it's lost its novelty. I'm bored with it." She walked to the edge of the pool and heaved it in.

Steven released an audible gasp as it splashed into the water. "Oh my God! What's wrong with you?" He ran to the side of the pool and knelt down, trying to retrieve all of his belongings, "I knew you were crazy! You need help! You need medication. Prozac." He bellowed.

Carol smiled at Rachel who stood on the opposite side of the pool as her Father. She walked to the Gasoline can and lifted it into her arms.

Steven looked up, watching her in absolute terror. He waved his arms in the air pleadingly. "No, no, no! Wait! Stop. Don't do it Carol. Stop this insanity right now."

Carol enjoyed watching him squirm from the other side. She thought he looked rather like a child throwing a tantrum, "Oh, Steven! Why do you have to be such a baby? You act as if you didn't expect this. I should've done this ages ago, I know. What can I say, I'm slow I guess." She hoisted the gas can forward, sending a long stream of yellow liquid into the pool.

Steven continued to grovel, "Carol, honey, please. Listen to me... this is all of my stuff. I know you don't wanna do this, Pumpkin."

Carol scoffed, "Stop whining. I always hated that." With each lunge of the can she screamed louder, "Whine, whine, whine!" When the can was finally empty, she tossed it in as well.

Steven looked at Rachel, who now stood at her Mother's side, "Rachel, sweetie, help daddy. Help me stop her."

Rachel stared at him hard, piercing his eyes with her own. She turned and walked to the grill, then returned to the pool side, handing her Mother a box of matches.

Steven shook his head in torment, "Carol, please don't do this to me. I'll do anything. I'll change," he negotiated. It was his job. Carol, on the other hand, was convinced he could do better. She cocked her head in false sympathy, and she struck a match, and then offered him a triumphant look in which he could see her power, something he had never seen before, and it petrified him.

"Steven?"

He breathed hard, "Huh?"

"I want a divorce."

And he watched helplessly as she ignited the entire box of matches and calmly launched it into the air with nothing but contentment on her face.

WOOSH!

Angie and Corey turned simultaneously just in time to see a swelling cloud rise into the air somewhere in the distance. The thunderous bang still left them each a bit startled.

"What was that?" Corey questioned aloud, really not expecting an answer, but knowing Angie would offer one anyway.

"Someone turned up the gas to high on their grill." She replied indifferently as she turned and began walking again.

Instinctively, Corey began following her once more, unable to contain the urge to stare; he kept glancing over his shoulder for some sign of fire. Eventually, as usual, his curiosity waned, and the notion to turn subsided as they grew further away.

"Sure is quiet tonight," he observed as they passed beneath an enormous canopy created by the Oak trees on each side of the street that met in the middle, entwining into one.

Although a substantial amount of time had passed since Corey had arrived in Sadie, the strange cinematic beauty of the atmosphere never failed to steal his breath. He noticed, as they strolled down the hilly road separated only by the white dividing line between them, that the Moon was full tonight. Not only was it full, but it seemed significantly larger than he ever remembered it being. It was not very high yet, and for a moment he thought it had stopped on its way up, just to allow him this impossible vision.

Corey stopped walking, soaking in its magnificence, the way it hung just above the horizon, close enough to touch. Like the backdrop of some lavish theater production that could be rolled up at any minute and packed away.

A few steps ahead, Angie had only now realized he was not at her side. She turned around but said nothing to him immediately. The expression that had befallen him made him appear hypnotized. A slight, stupid smile rested on his face, his eyes focused just beyond where she stood. She recognized that look of introspection, or sacred bliss, where he was a part of the things around him, and for a moment, all of this that would be moot to anyone less, acknowledged him. He was lost in the embrace of Earth.

"Corey?" Angie beckoned quietly.

His eyes found her, and before he let her continue, he rushed toward her. "Say something romantic."

"What?" She asked in amusement, trying hard to believe he wasn't serious, but his tone left no trace of humor.

Excitedly, he took her arm and ushered her attention to the moon, "Look at the moon. This is a special moment, Angie. Special moments come and go without us ever knowing it was there. Tonight we caught one. This is perfect! The silence all around, the moon shining down upon us, its poetry. It's about romance. That's what God created these moments for. I know we aren't lovers or anything, but still... say something romantic." He waited for her comply like a puppy waiting for food. He wrung his hands together anxiously, with a dreamy glaze etched upon his face. "Make something up!"

Angie looked as if she had just been hit with a brick. Her mouth was crooked and she was perfectly still, "I- uh..." She swallowed hard, "I love you," she said awkwardly.

It felt good to say it. She felt her heart lighten for it a voiced what it had hidden for so long. Somehow, it still felt odd. She knew that he still did not know, and it made it hurt worse.

Corey giggled, "Say it like you mean it. Look me in the eye and just say anything that comes into your mind." He pressed.

Oh, how lovely that would be to say the things that she longed to say. It was a window of opportunity, and she embraced it. She moved even closer to him, and spoke softly, "I have never known a love like this before, a love so true that I know it is forever. My every minute, while I'm awake, and while I sleep, are visions of you." She watched him closely, waiting for his face to sour and for him to go running for some gay sanctuary.

Instead, he smiled widely, tilting his head just to the left, "You're good." He said, his eyes widening, his mouth turning upward with genuine surprise. He straightened his back as if coming to attention and took her hands anxiously, "Now let's dance!"

"Dance?!" Angie questioned terrified. "In the middle of the street?"

"Don't fret so much... Sing something..."

"Oh no. No, that's out of the question." She raised her hand to him in protest as she turned away defiantly.

"Come on; don't let this be wasted on us. Just... sing something, something romantic, anything," Corey pressed earnestly.

Suddenly she felt uncomfortably displaced, anxious to deflect his silly suggestion, but she knew he was persistent, for some reason well beyond any she could conceive of, this was important to him. Songs raced through her mind. She hummed slightly, shakily at first as she worked up to her very first solo effort, and tightlipped she began. "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands."

CLAP! CLAP!

The color, once so lively, flushed from him. His face contorted as though she had done the unthinkable. Recoiling, he shook his head from side to side only once but said nothing.

Angie let forth a burst of frustrated breath, "I told you, I can't do it. This is silly."

Corey brightened, "It's not silly... moments are all we have in the end. We keep them in the scrapbook of our minds. Memories. When my time comes I want to look back and know that I didn't let one magic second pass me by. I want to remember my life like it was the most beautiful story ever told." He took her hands once again, "And this moment I will look back on and remember you."

Despite his being adamant, she still resisted. "I don't know-" She struggled, "I'd have to hear it."

Corey looked at her intensely and then softly began singing, "You and I together, Forever. " His voice trailed to a hum.

They swayed gently over the black pavement, Corey enveloped by the theatrics, her enveloped by him. Being this close, closer than she ever had, sent her reeling. It was perhaps the night, in all of it's nocturnal glory, or the breezes over the ornamental trees that lined the street, maybe even this moon, his moon, of which she no longer paid any notice. It was just him. Only him.

A smile blossomed on her face and she quietly laughed, "Dear God, shoot me."

"Why?"

"I know this song."

Corey's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "You do not!"

"I do!" She insisted, "I can't remember the name of the play but we did it in the ninth grade." She spoke through her teeth in an exaggerated manner. "It was my stage debut. Ah... the life of a chorus girl." They came to a full revolution.

"Meet Me in Saint Louis. The ultimate love story. The world was perfect then. None of the complexities of today. Beautiful, simple, and they had such class. I'm convinced I was born in the wrong era." He pushed himself out from her, still locked at the hand, and then twirled back into her, his back against her chest. As he looked over his shoulder into her glowing eyes, she remembered words that fell from oblivion into her memory. Words she never thought she would need came back to her with clarity, and she was grateful.

Now, they sang together, in unison. Their voices merged effortlessly, and were strengthened by their unchoreographed steps. "From my heart, a song of love besieges. Just for you, my longing arms are reaching. Time goes by, but we'll be together. You and I." Their song faded slowly, as their paces grew less uniform,

"Now dip me." Corey demanded happily.

Angie obliged and lowered him in her arms. Only now did the night time sounds fill the air as Angie stared at him below her and the moonlight fell onto his face. How truly wonderful he made her feel. She loved him like a bird loves the wind that carries it. She could never go back to a life without him. It would be incomplete. It was the enormity of this emotion that got the best of her this time. She lowered her head toward his, filling the space between them. She closed her eyes, and kissed him fully on the lips. It was while engaged in this kiss that she realized what she had done.

His eyes popped open; she released him hurriedly and stood up, covering her mouth in shock.

Corey plopped to the ground landing flat on his back. He did not move, or speak. He did not puke, or go into convulsions, and Angie was glad of that. Was he dead? Had she killed him? She was to afraid to say anything, or go nearer to his prone body. Finally, she found her senses and knew she had to say something to cover the silence that would drive her mad. She had to make an excuse. She had to be convincing. She wished there was a panic button in life. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I just-" she caught her breath, "I just got caught up in the moment, you know? With the night and the singing, and the moon. I once heard that people do crazy things during a full moon. The gravity from it pulls our brains closer to the top of our heads. That's what happened. I went a little nuts. The moon pulled up my brain. That's what it was." She rushed to his side, "Are you okay?" She asked with only a tinge of guilt.

He sat up, with a glazed look over his eyes, a blank expression. "I think I have to go to gay confession now." He said jokingly.

She helped him to his feet and he dusted himself off. Again, she apologized, "I'm really sorry, Corey."

"Don't be. That's what nights like this are for. Except we're not exactly who we would have chosen to spend it with. I'm not your Mr. Right, and you're not Thom-" he stopped cold, "I mean, not Chris." He secretly reprimanded himself for the slip. How could he make a mistake like that so casually? He wasn't even thinking about Thomas that second. It was almost... natural.

Angie was too jarred to notice his slip; it was his dismissing her, knowing he wished for her kiss to have been from another, that ate at her. She understood that it was not a personal insult, he would never do that to her. It was just common knowledge. As far as he was concerned, it was a fact observed by them both.

Only now did the utterance jump out at her, that name that turned her stomach sour. She hadn't expected that. "What about Chris?" She inquired, having been so disassociated from the conversation she didn't quite comprehend the context in which that vile name was used. Corey was supposed to hate him. Why would he say his name?

Corey pushed back a stray strand of hair that had fallen over his eye during the fall. Again, he smiled at her, this time drunk on the idea of what he was about to share with his friend. He began walking again; wrapping his arm around hers "Chris came to my window last night." He said softly, not looking at her, not stopping, keeping the strides uninterrupted.

Angie rolled her eyes in complete disgust and made a barely audible grunt which testified to her displeasure. "I hope you told him to go drown himself in a shallow pool of dirty dishwater," She snapped. She hated to hear him speak that name... that non-existent character created by Gabe only to deceive him.

Corey grinned, he knew she had every right to dislike Chris after all she had witnessed, "Well, I didn't exactly say that."

"What did you say?"

Corey hesitated for a moment, "I was really defensive at first, and then he said things. Things that made sense... and, I don't know, maybe I am being selfish. I guess I failed to be sensitive to his situation. I know it must be hard to have such a frustrating secret, and I have never had to hide so I just had no idea-"

Angie stopped independent of him, pulling her arm back into herself. "Oh shut up, Corey!" She snapped in agitation as they stopped again. "I'm so sick and tired of you making excuses for that guy. Look at what he's done to you! First he left you sitting alone in the gym, then he hides out in the parking lot at the dance, and to top it all off, he basically tells you to your face that he's ashamed if you. I thought you had more dignity than this, than to let someone humiliate you and break you."

Corey withdrew in surprise, her frigid manner stunned him as it was something he had never before seen, not from her anyhow, especially after the rather intimate moment they just shared. This was the extreme opposite, and it took him a moment to find his own voice again. First he let out a choked laugh, more to take the edge off of the moment than to appear humored. "I'm not making excuses. I've just realized the difficult position he is in. He needs someone right now. He needs me."

"He doesn't need you, Corey." She informed gravely.

"How do you know? You don't even know him. You don't know how he speaks to me." He argued, now succumbing to his natural defenses.

"I know what he has done. I know that you don't love him, Corey." She took a deep breath as she watched her own reflection in his eyes, "You don't love him."

Corey could say nothing. The most frightening element in her voice was that of truth, and he knew she was right, what he didn't know was that anyone else had recognized it. Had he really been that transparent? Could his face be read that easily? He swallowed the lump that had developed in his drying throat. He had to be consistent with his choices, he refused to complain about what he had and then act as if it were enough in the presence of it. So, he lied. "I do love him," He conceded shakily. "And, he loves me. He loves me, Angie. You should be happy that I've finally got someone in my life who thinks I am worthwhile."

Angie smirked sarcastically, "I wonder sometimes if you really pity yourself as much as it sounds, or if you just want everyone else to pity you."

"How could you say that to me?" Corey retorted. The remark made a deep cut.

"You make it easy to hurt you, Corey... because you keep coming back for more. People do love you. Good people. People who love you like you deserve to be loved. Whatever happened to your fairytale?"

Corey sighed heavily, "You yourself said there is no such thing... and there isn't. There just isn't."

Angie didn't flinch, "I said that when you were feeling bad. I believe in magic Corey. I have to. I know there are things in life that can't happen without it. I believed in your fairytale because you did. I believed in it for you. If anyone could have, it would be you because you never doubted it. But, they won't happen if you don't let them... and you-" She stopped as she shook her head sadly, "-you won't let them. Just don't expect me to keep feeling sorry for you. The next time he hurts you, don't come to me. I'm your friend, and I love you, but you do it to yourself. I thought you were different, Corey. I thought you were faithful to who you were and what you believed in."

"I AM!" Corey shouted in rebuttal, he felt inflamed, his face had flushed and his heart was pounding.

. "You're not. Maybe you were, but you're not anymore. You're just like the rest of us now." She turned from him and started away, and he stood silent until she was gone, and only then did he too leave.

The walk home was loud, not on the outside, but on the inside. Her voice reverberated through his mind like a guitar string being plucked under water. There were things he had not said aloud, to anyone, and yet Angie seemed to know. It made him wonder how much she knew. He was defenseless to her argument, and that fact shamed him. He knew he should place no value on her opinions concerning his situation because she knew very little about Chris, and while she believed her efforts were in his best interest, they were not. It was obvious to him that his relationship with Chris appeared ill-fated to anyone on the outside looking in, but really, what else was there? Who would choose a life alone over a life with someone who actually loved him? There was no comparison. He may not love Chris in the way he imagined himself loving another, but he did like him very much, and perhaps with time, he would grow so accustomed to having him in his life that his reservations, of which he tried hard to repress, would disappear altogether.

Corey came to Harrington Street and, by now, he had walked these steps so many times, his feet were on autopilot. It gave him time to think, and he didn't pay as much regard to the surroundings which suddenly seemed all too ordinary. The moon was high above now, far from reach. He found himself more tired than usual. Emotionally exhausted. Sleep would be his only escape from all of the confusion. He looked forward to that tonight.

As he came from beyond the wall of giant Pine trees, he saw the figure sitting perched loosely on his porch steps. At first it startled him, and he paused briefly. Who would be at his house at this hour? It must have been close to midnight by now. He lurched a bit closer, waiting for the figure to notice him approaching. The outline was rather masculine, slouching over his knees, holding an object in his hands.

"Hello?" Corey called a little unsettled. His anxiety immediately gave way to elation when the figure looked up at him, and it was Thomas's face he was gazing at. Now he walked faster toward him, smiling, beaming. "Hi!" He said again.

Thomas did not rise to greet him, he simply nodded his head a bit, gave a half grin, "Hey you." "What are you doing out here?" Corey asked.

"I was waiting for you. I didn't want to knock; I thought your Dad might be sleeping." Thomas explained quietly as he looked up at Corey, watching the wind shift his hair about his head. The sight of him always gave him a feeling similar to flight, like he was as light as the air around him.

Corey sat down next to him. Their arms were touching, yet neither of them made an effort to move. "How long have you been waiting?" Corey questioned.

"About... I don't know... two hours now." Thomas replied.

Corey drew back in disbelief, "Two hours?"

"I had nothing else to do. I hope you don't mind." Thomas avoided eye contact, praying his revelation didn't seem strange.

"I don't mind. I'm glad you waited." Corey admitted. He studied Thomas closely from this angle, his profile was so perfect, and he could make out the structure of his face from the shadows and light. It made him appear even more dramatic than usual.

"This is for you." Thomas handed Corey a stuffed puppy dog with large droopy eyes.

A STUFFED ANIMAL? Oh gracious. It's the thought that counts right? Corey struggled to manifest an adequate reply that would camouflage his true horror. "Uh... Thank you, Thomas. How very kind." He politely sang.

Thomas folded his hands firmly between his legs and laughed a little. "It's not from me. I'm not a stuffed animal type of person. They remind me of taxidermy." He stated somberly, then continued, "It was on your steps when I got here. It had a little note with it, but it blew away. It wasn't in an envelope or anything, so..." Thomas paused, afraid that Corey would think him a liar.

"Oh." Was all Corey said.

"It was from your boyfriend, Chris." Thomas added as he stared out across the street at the Cavanaugh house, where only the upstairs light was on. "I didn't try to read it or anything, but it wasn't folded. It just sort of lay there... on top."

"Well... what did it say?" Corey asked. He was amused by Thomas difficulty in explaining without incriminating himself. Corey knew he read it, and he didn't care. He secretly wished it would make him jealous. It was a foolish desire, and Corey, being the level-headed young man he was, knew better, but he did like to wish.

Thomas twisted his fingers together, stretching them to the point of pain before releasing them. The bones snapped loudly. "It said, 'Thanks for the second chance.' that's all."

Corey didn't say anything. He was almost disappointed now that Thomas found the stupid thing. He figured more than anything Thomas would be disappointed in him.

"So, you guys are back together, I see." Thomas observed, "That's good. I knew things would work out." Though he tried with a noble intent to hide the fracture in his heart, he feared that Corey would see directly through him and laugh. Despite his ever present armor, there were occasions when he let it slip, "Nothing with eyes would ever find a reason to be ashamed of you." As soon he said it, he had to redeem himself, "I'm glad he came to his senses."

Corey was speechless as he watched Thomas stand. Much like an old man, slowly, yet sturdily.

"I better get going, Thomas announced as he inhaled deeply.

"You don't have to." Corey reacted as he leapt up after him.

"It's late. I don't wanna keep you any longer than I have. I'm just glad I got to see you. Glad things are okay." He looked at the cracked walkway of colored stones as he put his hands in his pockets.

"I am happy you came." Corey sighed, aware that nothing he could say would keep him close.

Thomas wanted to say the same thing, but it would have been a lie. He wished he hadn't come. He wished he hadn't found the gift. He tried to force himself to start walking, but he couldn't do it. A silence lingered between them for a few fleeting seconds. "Well... you have a pleasant evening."

"You too." Corey replied sorrowfully.

"Good night." Thomas said as he turned, and escaped that gravitational pull that kept him near his love.

"...Night." Corey whispered. He began up his porch steps, turning a few times to catch a glance of the fading figure that was Thomas.

Suddenly, he heard Thomas call out to him from across the lawn. "Corey?"

Corey spun fast.

"The other thing, against your door... that's from me." He continued walking backward. Curiously, Corey came up the last step and glanced downward where a large, thin package sat wrapped in brown paper. He moved closer to it, picking it up with both hands. It was nearly as large as he was and twice as wide. He tore the paper, his anticipation getting the best of him. As he ripped back the last layer, he exposed a detailed sketch... of himself.

It was the portrait Thomas had drawn of him months ago, when they had first met. He tossed off the rest of the wrapping and found that Thomas had added a something new... long, delicate wings. Angel wings, folded around his body. He ran his finger along the fine chalk lines, where he knew that Thomas's amazing hand had once swept. Did he really see him this way?

Corey quickly moved back to the edge of the porch, hoping to catch Thomas, praying he was still there. He was not. Again, he glanced down at his gift. His precious treasure. He held it to his chest, embracing it. "Thank you." He whispered softly through a smile glistening with hushed fallen tears.

"Thank you."

eleven

The Gates of Autumn

Through the grand cascades of brilliant color, and soothing intervals of aromatic manifestations, the congregation of the Church of Christ sat in long rows amidst the vibrant gardens of Heaven. The crowd had grown considerably over the last month, drawing believers from all over Connecticut to take part in the union of nature and God.

Martin Cavanaugh stood robed at the podium near the edge of the cliff, the sky providing a fitting backdrop; casting hews of pink and blue across the thin, scattered clouds. He smiled nervously at his vast crowd of listeners. No seats remained so many were forced to stand among the brush, far back from the make shift pulpit that had been adorned with Clematis. There must have been a hundred people there, and Martin was rather unprepared for the turn out. He knew the body of the church had been growing, but this was a dramatic change. Word must have spread quickly. He glanced at his family who were in their usual place. Mary, Joy, Jimbo, Christopher, Kayla and Gabe.

Today, the sermon was on the Ten Commandments. With all eyes fixed firmly on Martin, the parish absorbed every syllable he uttered. Soon, it was obvious that he had adapted to the sizable crowd and began preaching with the fury he always had. "Jesus told us not to sin. But we sin, and sin, and sin, and sin. We are challenged by the devil every day, every minute. We know the difference between right and wrong, but all to often we have the need to get away with a little indulgence. The bible says 'Let those without sin, cast the first stone." There is no one. Not you not me," He moved from behind the podium, his microphone clenched tightly in his fist, "Not you, not you. We are all sinners. Therefore, none of us have the right to cast anything! We have no place criticizing our fellow man for their choices. 'Love thy neighbor as thy own self,' Jesus said."

As Gabe listened, he couldn't help but twinge from the pointed irony, and Martin continued on, pacing back and forth, "We have no place to judge, or damn them for their trials. We are on a mission of our own, and we know what that mission is. We are servants of our Lord, Jesus Christ!"

The audience stood and applauded. Feeling the spirit, emotionally charged listeners would raise their hands, screaming out, "AMEN!"

Martin loved it. This was where he belonged. This was how he served his Lord. He was a vessel, and every time he opened his mouth to deliver a new account, he did it with the Holy Spirit surging through him. This was power. Gabe and his family cheered with the rest of his disciples. The clergyman standing in the front began to pass the offering basket. It filled fast with bills as it was handed down the rows. The Cavanaugh's watched the donations build, smiling and holding each other hands in celebration. They knew a miracle had befallen them. Their church would be saved.

"I can't believe you actually had the nerve to kiss him!"

In her bedroom, Rachel was sitting in front of her large oak vanity, staring into the mirror. She gently applied a light shade of rouge to her cheeks, then plunged her mascara stick into the thin bottle.

Angie was next to her, watching her perform the procedure with the intensity of a brain surgeon. "It was probably the craziest thing I've ever done. I thought for sure he would get up and smack me in the face," Angie stated, reliving that night again, as she had dozens of times by now. Rachel was used to it. She would just smile and nod as if it were just as explosive as the first time she heard it. She spun toward Angie, taking her chin, holding her head steady and gently stroked the brush over Angie's eyes. Angie jerked back, "Don't poke me in the eye."

Rachel huffed, "I wasn't going to poke you, now just hold still."

Angie returned her face to Rachel's open hand, "I don't see the point of any of this. It doesn't help me any... I still look like me, only painted."

Rachel began on the other lash, "It boosts the ego. When you know you look good, you have a lot more confidence," she replied.

Angie flinched back again, "You almost poked me in the eye! I felt the bristles touch my eyeball! You're gonna blind me!" She quarreled.

"I wasn't even touching your eyeball!" Rachel argued.

"Well... I felt something touch my eye!"

"Fine, we'll just do lipstick." Defeated, Rachel capped the mascara and opened a tube of velvet red gloss.

Angie studied Rachel as she coated her lips, "How does it feel to be pretty?" She questioned, staring at Rachel, admiring her fairness.

The sincerity in her voice made Rachel stop. She glared into Angie's eyes, not smiling, like stone.

"You can say it doesn't matter what's on the outside, but I know that's a lie," Angie added quietly.

"I've never thought of myself as pretty... so I don't know how to answer your question," Rachel commented blankly.

"Surely other people have told you."

Rachel looked back to the image in the mirror, of herself and Angie, "I've heard it before, but it's just a passing compliment, something people say to be nice, never means much."

Angie revered her, "It must be nice to hear. No one's ever told me that before. That I was pretty."

Rachel turned her head, meeting her straight on, "Why do you need to be told?"

Angie was gripped by Rachel's enigmatic eye's. Their color so penetrating that they seemed to glow. She said nothing.

Rachel broke their intense stare, grabbing the foundation. She twisted off the cap and poured a puddle into her palm, rubbing them together. With both of her hands she moved into Angie, softly rubbing her hands over her face, caressing her warm skin. She did it slow, expecting Angie to refuse, but she didn't. Angie closed her eyes, as Rachel moved the tips of her fingers over them, then down across her tiny scars that formed a perfect line down to her jowls.

"Where did you get your scars?" Rachel asked, almost silently, careful not to disrupt the solitude they had partaken of together.

Angie opened he eyes, meeting her with a blank look, "I was a baby when it happened. I was lying on a blanket beside my Mother. She got up to get a drink. She left me alone. A dog... a stray dog wondered in from the alley behind the house. It attacked me. It picked me up by my head; my entire face was in its mouth. My Mom came out and started screaming, but it ran away, with me still inside... she chased it down the street, and this man came out of nowhere, and he stopped the dog. It dropped me and the man picked me up and gave me to my Mom. He rushed us to the hospital where I had fifty stitches. They said if it would have bitten me an inch higher, it would've pierced my temple, any lower it would have had me by the neck. I could've died."

Rachel stood still and sound, cupping Angie's face in her hands, "Wow," She recounted bewildered, "I guess we should consider ourselves lucky to have you."

"Do you think it would make a difference? I mean, if I had died?"

Rachel removed her hands and sank back into her seat, "We would've never been friends...." Angie grew a smile.

The sing-song tune of the doorbell chimed through the Porter house. Rachel and Angie jumped up, "Maybe that's Corey!" Rachel howled as she trampled down the hallway with Angie on her heals. Stampeding down the stairs, and into the foyer, unable to stop soon enough, they slammed into the front door. Laughing, Rachel yanked it open.

Immediately the laughter subsided. Angie eyed him like a dangerous enemy, a predator stalking his prey.

Rachel breathlessly broke a smile, "Gabe, what are you doing here?" She asked, uncomfortably surprised.

Gabe greeted her with a caring expression, "It's Sunday. I came for our walk."

Now, this was odd. Rachel and Gabe hadn't taken there walk for nearly a month. They hadn't spoken in over two weeks. This was sudden. Rachel cocked her head curiously. "I really can't today, Gabe. I have company."

Gabe forced his way past her, "Angie won't mind if I steal you away for a couple of hours. I think we have a lot we need to talk about, don't you?" He asked, glancing around her house. It seemed as if it had gone through some change, just as Rachel herself had. The foreign statues of mangled beings and ancient Gods had been removed. "Looks like your Mom redecorated," he commented.

Rachel closed the door and glanced at Angie, "Do you mind if I go with him, just for a little while."

Angie wilted, wanting to firmly dispute the idea, but digressing, "No. Not at all," she lied. Rachel kissed her on the cheek, then looked at Gabe who had made his way into the living room, "Let me just grab a sweater and we can go," she said, bounding past Angie up the stairs.

Angie watched Gabe closely through the archway. How could he have the audacity to keep on with this betrayal? Knowing that he was with Rachel, he campaigned to get Corey back. This wasn't anything coincidental anymore. This wasn't an elaborate mistake. He knew what he was doing, and continued to dig himself in deeper. He could have ended it all when Corey broke up with him. He could have disregarded Corey and stayed with Rachel. When Gabe had the option of correcting his mistakes, he opted only to stay on his destructive path, one that would inevitably annihilate two innocent souls. Now he had no excuses. He was doing it by choice. Enraged, Angie threw open the door and stomped out, across the yard and onto the sidewalk. She was crying, not so much because she was sad, but that was an ingredient. She was angry; Angry at herself for not putting a stop to Gabe long ago, that first night when she found out. It had gone way to far now, beyond limits of a simple explanation. She was a criminal, a victimizer just as Gabe. Knowing all she knew, she never told either of them, and now, such a long time had passed, that to go to either of them now would be confessing her own deceit. She was an accessory. She turned over her shoulder and paused in the shade of a swaying, white birch tree. She watched as Gabe held the small of Rachel's back, walking at her side as the turned away from her house, walking the opposite way as Angie. Their backs were toward her, and she could only hope that Gabe would find in inside himself to do the decent thing and tell her. He wouldn't. It was a frivolous hope. She started again, on her way down the quiet street, her hands tucked inside her baggy sleeves, ones she used to wipe her tears away.

"It always rains in August; Mostly nighttime thunderstorms. I kind of like that." Gabe shared as he and Rachel walked down London's Alley where they always took their morning walks. London's Alley was named for a British man who moved to Sadie in the 1970's. He bought the house at the end of the lane, and solicited permission from the Neighbors to turn the drab alley into a replica of the ones from his homeland. Granted allowance, he tore down the rickety, old metal fences, and erected beautiful brick walls, tall and unbroken, nary a sign of any evidence of time. Stone cherubs sat along the cement topping, their tiny legs dangling over the edge. Morning Glory crawled up along the red brick, sprouting forth brilliant blue blossoms. Spilling over the towering fixtures were huge willow trees, their thickly massed branches nearly reaching the narrow, paved alley from the backyards hidden behind the structures. Lantern lights had been placed at both entrances to the alley, where they sat upon large brick pillars.

Rachel didn't have much to say. It had seemed an eternity since she was last with him, and her lack of excitement, and eagerness disturbed her, but she didn't show it.

"I heard your parents are getting a divorce, you okay with that?" Gabe asked concerned.

Rachel held her hands behind her back, "I'm fine. It was something that just had to happen. My Dad just... fell out of love, and instead of giving my Mom the respect of letting her know, he screwed around behind her back and flaunted it in her face." She explained casually.

Gabe watched his feet move beneath him, stepping on the cracks in the black pavement, and the slivers of grass that escaped through them, "I waited for you to call for so long. I really missed you," he confessed.

Rachel grinned, "I missed you too. I have just been so preoccupied with getting my life in order. I can't believe I'm going to be leaving so soon. I have this war going on inside of me, I don't know whether to be happy about going, and starting my life, or scared because of all of the crime you hear about. I guess Manhattan is a pretty rough neighborhood. Actually, the entire city is rough. In essence, it's just not Sadie anymore. Sometimes, I'm so exited about all of the new people I'm going to meet, and all the new events that will follow. Then, I'm sad about leaving my Mom alone, and leaving so much behind, so I'm a virtual melting pot of emotions." Rachel declared exasperated.

Gabe took her arm and brought her to a standstill. She looked up to him, startled by his rapid demand. "What about me... Are you planning on leaving me behind too? Are you just going to go off to New York and meet all these guys and forget all about me?" Gabe asked shakily. He was half ashamed that he allowed himself to be so blunt; he had hoped not to seem overzealous in looking for his reassurance.

Rachel, once able to absorb his words, and becoming aware of Gabe's genuine fear, began to snicker.

Gabe was in disbelief. He had no idea what to say. Soon her giggles turned into boisterous laughter, literally doubling her over. "I'm serious, Rachel, this isn't funny," Gabe said earnestly, suddenly feeling displaced.

Still doubled, Rachel spoke in labored sentences, stopping between words to laugh again, "I know... I know... It's just... so wildly ironic."

"I wish you wouldn't laugh at me," Gabe upbraided distantly, trying to look away.

Finally, Rachel found the ability to stand upright, her face was red from the shortage of oxygen, her eyes were teary and her smile was permanently engraved on her face, "I'm sorry, it's just that I could hear myself saying something like that not so long ago, and I just didn't comprehend how unbelievably pathetic I must have sounded," she announced amused.

Gabe scratched the back of his neck troubled, "I don't think you sounded pathetic," he admitted. Rachel held her stomach, it still ached a little, "No, I was pathetic, trust me. I was well on my way to finding myself exactly were my Mom was. Trying to please everyone else, and becoming an old pushover."

Gabe shook his head in disagreement, adamantly defending her, "You were never a pushover, Rachel. You are a bright, wonderful, generous girl. You are somebody I hold in very high regard, you help people, you give so much of yourself and you never ask for anything in return except love. Maybe I was too stupid to see it, or maybe I just took you for granted, but Rachel, I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to go away, and never look back. We have too much."

Rachel felt a draft of air swish through the alley, it was warm and dry. She offered Gabe a flattered expression, politely grinning, "Gabriel, we have had many, many years of together. Practically my entire childhood was spent with you, learning with you, growing with you. We have so many memories, and we'll have them for the rest of our lives, that's the one thing we'll always share... I don't know what's going to happen to either of us when we leave Sadie. One thing I do know, is that nothing will ever be the same. Nothing."

Gabe wanted to grab her and tear a hole in the fabric of time, forcing her back to the time when she was once so submissive and fresh. That hadn't been so long ago. How can anyone change so drastically in such a short frame? There was once a time when she would have kissed the ground he walked on, she would have dropped everything just to talk to him, be with him. Now she was someone else. A woman of independent means. "How can you say that, Rach? You don't throw away seven years of... of... us! We have a history, we don't have to change, and nothing between us has to change. The world may change around us, things may look different. We may be in different places, but what we have in our hearts, that we can keep, and preserve. When we leave Sadie, we're moving into strange territory, we can't trust anything out there to be true, but we have seven years, and we have each other, that is the one thing we can keep with us, that's the one thing to remind us that what we have is true."

She was somewhat puzzled by his blatant show of weakness. Gabe had never been one to show his fear. Apparently, he was not the rock of strength she thought him to be. It wasn't a bad thing; it made her look at him as more of an equal, as something more human than she had before. Once she had believed him to be supernatural, someone that beheld awesome powers. She depended on him for so much in the past, more than should ever be expected of one man. She depended on Gabe to validate her existence. She needed him to feel worthwhile, and he gave her that, plus so much more. He was her protector, someone she could hide behind in times of confrontation. He was her excuse for being fragile. She never had to engage in any real battles, because Gabe fought for her. He provided her with countless reasons for not needing to stand on her own two feet. She could fade into the background and allow Gabe to live his life for both of them, and she would have been perfectly content and proud that he would do such. That was not who she was anymore. She wanted the satisfaction of knowing how it felt to live her own life. She had seen her own Mother take a back seat and let someone else steer the direction of her life. She let her husband determine what would be. Of course, she had no control over his disassociation with her, but she did know of his departure from her dream life, and she still desperately held on to her own hopes and in doing so, became miserable, and alone.

That event had changed Rachel. She had learned that it was imperative to find her own bearing. Gabe would not be around to nurse her forever. She couldn't risk, one day finding she was helpless and vulnerable. This was the beginning of self-discovery. This was the beginning of that great window of time when people begin to put together the infinite pieces that make them who they are.

Rachel took his hand, "Gabe, I will never forget you, whether we are together, or by some chance, we're not. But I cannot promise you that the way things are now, is the way they'll be for the rest of our lives. I had to face that, and it was the hardest thing that I've had to do."

Gabe was visibly fraught, "We don't have to expect things to fall apart, Rachel. We have this binding that holds us together, that we can rely on. I love you. I'm giving the most I'm capable of just to keep you."

Rachel laid her head against his chest, "You have me now."

Gabe wrapped his arms around her and held her as close as he could, wanting to draw her in, and never, ever let her go, secretly wishing that whatever had been done to give her a voice of her own he could undo.

Corey sat beside the telephone in the living room. He eyed it intensely, willing it to ring. Unfortunately it did not comply. He wanted Thomas to call him. He had been waiting for days. He found Thomas occupying his every thought, even his dreams. Corey knew he was with Chris, and that was okay, it's not like Thomas could ever feel like this about him anyway. He didn't feel he was being disloyal to Chris. Being disloyal would be actually initiating an affair with someone who was consensual, and Thomas was not. Sure, this situation ran parallel to the 'Jason' incident, but, since Corey knew there was no chance, he had knowledge of distinct boundaries that he would not compromise.

Finally, he mustered the guts to pick up the telephone and call him.

"Hello?" Thomas answered.

"Hey," Corey paused, avoiding sounding intimate, "Buddy," he added gruffly. He closed his eyes and his hand came to his forehead with dread.

"Hi... Buddy," Thomas reiterated, noticing the forced gesture.

"I was just wondering what you were doing?" Corey rattled.

Thomas was quiet for a second before finally replying, "I'm not really doing anything."

Corey wound himself up in the telephone cord as he twisted and paced frazzled, "I hung up my drawing. You left before I could thank you."

"It was nothing. I just really didn't have room for it anymore," Thomas said.

Corey appeared discouraged, "It was still nice that you chose me," he swallowed hard, "You know, to give it to."

"Well, the drawing was of you. It would've been hard to give it to anybody else," Thomas explained.

Corey chuckled, even though he had hoped Thomas' reasons hadn't been so conventional, "True... Anyway, I wanted to invite you over. I thought we could do something... maybe watch a movie."

Thomas didn't answer directly; it was probably because Corey didn't give him a chance to.

"You don't have too. I mean, it was just a thought. I have nothing to do today. I'm really bored, and I called everyone else, but no one was home," Corey lied. That sounded callous. He felt like an idiot and held the telephone away, banging the head of the receiver against his forehead. Then he attempted to retrieve himself, "That didn't come out right."

He heard Thomas giggle halfway, "Okay, since there's nobody else."

"GREAT!" Corey screeched a little too loud into the phone. "Come over now.... if you want." "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"OKAY!" Corey agreed as he slammed down the telephone, fanning himself with his open hand. He had to get ready! He wanted to look good. He wanted to make a lasting impression! Not that it mattered, or even that Thomas would notice, but it was common decency to look appropriate when having a guest.

Corey went to take a quick stride away before realizing the cord from the phone had bound his feet. He yowled as he crashed to the ground. He scrambled to free himself. Then, as if in fast forward, he hurried to his feet and fled out of the room, flying up the stairs, ripping down the hallway and into his bedroom.

He ripped off his clothes and flung open his closet door, held up several outfits before deciding on a pair of tight, faded denim jeans and a loose sweater. Once dressed, he ran to his mirror and picked up the hair spray that sat on the hanging cabinet beside it. Slinging his head downward, his hair hung heavily in front of him and he began spritzing it like mad. Then, he shook like a wet dog and positioned the layers accordingly with his fingers.

He fumbled for a bottle of cologne and pressed the nozzle, but nothing happened. "No, not now," he cursed and he banged it on the edge of the surface. Then he tried again and a steady mist of scent covered his neck. The delicate smell of L'uminous filled his nostrils and he loved it... only now, it wouldn't stop. It was jammed.

With the projectile stream spouting into the air, Corey hopped around the room, trying in angst to retrieve control. Finally, he just slung the entire bottle out of the window. Coughing and gagging from the potent musk, he jetted back out of the room.

Judy Garland stood poised in front of the cherry oak mirror, surveying herself, flipping her long, auburn hair over her shoulders. She stepped over to the tall, Victorian window as graceful as a summer breeze, and began to sing, "The Boy Next Door."

The lyrics struck both Thomas and Corey as the sat opposite the television on the sofa, discreetly stealing fast glimpses of each other. Judy sang on; "How can I ignore the boy next door. I love him more than I can say. Doesn't try to please me. Doesn't even tease me. And he never sees me glance his way. And though I'm heart sore for the boy next door, Affection for me won't dismay... I just adore him, so I can't ignore him... The boy next door."

Needing an excuse to look at Thomas without obviously staring, Corey tried to strike a conversation. "I know all the words to the 'Trolley Song,'" he prattled mindlessly, then immediately his mouth dropped in horror. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Thomas nodded in acknowledgment, pursing his lips. Then he stuck his nose into the air sniffing about. "Do you smell that?"

Corey grabbed the tray of snacks off the end table, pushing it into Thomas' face, diverting him from the lingering cologne, overpowering as it might be, but hoped Thomas wouldn't notice. "Cracker?" he squeaked.

"No thanks," Thomas replied, "Don't you smell that? It's- It's burning my eyes."

Corey flew up from the sofa, "Uh... I think it might be the dog! Yeah, you see, he just came back from being groomed and they always spray them with this cologne to make them... not stink."

"I didn't know you had a dog."

"I- I don't. It's not mine; it's my friends' dog. I'm just watching it for her... I'll just run and put him out," Corey stuttered. He was a terrible liar. He rushed from the living room into the kitchen, where he made a bee line for the sink. He turned on the faucet and took a dish rag, running it under the water. He splashed it on his neck and muffled a squeal, a natural reaction after scalding yourself. He turned the other knob, releasing a cold flow. He wiped as much of the perfume from his body as possible, he prayed enough to subdue the smell, then, raced back into the room where Thomas waited.

He calmly entered. "There, that should be better," he stated, sitting down.

Thomas could sense that Corey's behavior was somewhat altered. He was rigid and flighty. He began to believe he was making him uncomfortable. Maybe Corey didn't actually want him to come over at all; he could've just been being polite. He saw Corey was sitting on the edge of his seat, rubbing his hands together between his knees. Why did he invite him over if he didn't want him there?

Thomas faked a yawn and stretched his arms above his head, "I think I should get going." Thomas stood up and sighed.

Corey bounded up beside him, "No! No!" He pleaded in despair, then tried not to appear distraught, "I mean, the movie isn't even over yet."

Thomas started toward the front door as Corey scuttled along behind him like an anxious puppy, "We don't have to watch the movie if you don't want to. We can do something else. I have scrabble and checkers, even Pong, have you ever played Pong?" Corey cringed on the inside.

Thomas turned to him irritated, "You can stop it now, Corey. You don't have to be courteous because I gave you the picture. I don't expect you to invite me over and become my.... best friend."

Corey was speechless. What was he talking about? Had he said, or done something wrong? He strained for some words, "I invited you over because I like you. I don't know why you think I'm just being nice to you because of the picture. Why do you have to be so suspicious?"

Thomas fell silent, now feeling embarrassed, "You just seemed edgy, like I was making you uncomfortable or something. I thought that you might think that I thought since I gave you the drawing you'd think you would have to tolerate me."

"Okay... now you're sounding like me."

Thomas smiled meekly, "Sorry."

"Why does it have to be such an outlandish idea, that I may want to spend time with you," Corey asked curiously.

Thomas glared at him through shining eyes, "I never wanted to impose... on you."

Corey met his eyes with his own, "You're not imposing... you could never impose... you're always welcome."

Thomas wanted to touch his face, the silken softness it seemed to be, tantalized him. More than anything in the world, he wanted to kiss him. Take him into his arms and pull him close, feel his heart beating against his body. He would run his fingers over his shoulders and join them at the small of his back while inhaling the light essence of his hair. Just to be able to feel that he was loved by this magnificent soul would make his remaining days more satisfying. Just to know how he feels to the touch, how he thinks, what he dreams, that would be heaven. To kiss the lids of his eyes as he slept, to feel him next to him in the early morning hours, to hold him close so they become-

Ahhhhh!!! Thomas knew he had to stop this. It was destructive and would drive him mad. Corey had someone already, and even if he didn't, Thomas knew he would never be enough to give Corey what he deserved.

Thomas reached down and took Corey hand, shaking it vigorously. Maybe it was a polite gesture, maybe it was an excuse to touch him, "You're a great neighbor, Corey."

Feeling like he was perched on the top of a washing machine as Thomas nearly yanked his arm off his body, Corey grinned displaced. Neighbor? Somehow, he found the nerve to speak otherwise, "I hope we're more than just neighbors. After all, I've lived here for four months. Kind of silly to be so formal after all this time, huh?"

Still shaking Corey's hand, Thomas finally dropped it, "Yeah, you're right! We're not just neighbors... we're more than that now. Aren't we?" What were they?

Corey nursed his hand, which throbbed now, but he didn't let on, "Yes, we're much more than that... I mean, If you want to be, I want to be... more than neighbors, I mean," Corey stammered. Thomas excitedly accepted, "I do!" he yelled, and then quieted, "I do. I just wasn't sure if you really wanted to be... more. I didn't want to assume anything; you know what they say about people who assume."

"So, then... what exactly are we?" Corey questioned carefully.

"I guess, after neighbors comes... friends?" Thomas hoped he was wrong.

Corey withheld the flood of words that shuttled through his mind, "I guess we're... friends then," he announced mechanically.

"Friends," Thomas repeated, just as disappointed.

Corey cleared his throat, folding his arms across his narrow frame, "I always thought we were friends though... so this is really nothing new."

"That's funny... I felt the same way," Thomas said indirectly.

For the next few moments, it was perfectly still. Neither of them spoke, or moved. Nothing on Earth made a sound. Corey pushed his hair back with his hand and looked up at Thomas, "I don't want you to go," he confessed in a raspy, almost incriminating tone.

"I don't want to go," Thomas replied in the same manner.

After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Corey took Thomas by the hand and led him toward the staircase, "I have something I want to show you."

"This is my Mother," Corey said.

He and Thomas were lying back on his bed huddled closely together, holding the thick photo album above them.

"She's pretty," Thomas said kindly, "You look like your Mom. You have the same nose."

"I hate my nose." Corey objected.

Thomas laughed, "Why? Why do you hate it, it looks like a little button." Thomas and Corey faced each other. They were barely an inch apart.

"It does not, You can see it from space." Corey joked.

"Yeah, well my ears stick out. When I was born the doctor expected me to take flight," Thomas admitted.

Corey giggled, "You're a liar! They are not big."

Thomas smiled and returned his attention to the pictures above. "Who's this?" He asked, pointing to a photograph of a large, insanely happy woman."

Corey smiled uncontrollably, "That's my Aunt Claudia. She's my Dad's sister. She once weighed six hundred and fifty pounds, and she went on this Richard Simmons diet and lost three hundred. Now she has these huge bags under her arms, and her boobs hang down to her waist. I call her Claudia Cleavage."

Thomas erupted with laughter. Corey couldn't help but be amused by him, "I say it out of love! It's not derogatory, even she laughs about it." He put the album down beside his bed and turned on his side, facing Thomas, who had contained himself. "I'm really very proud of her. She used to be so unhappy with herself, and she finally just had enough. Decided to make a change."

Thomas placed his hand under his head, staring at Corey, studying his face, "Next time you see Aunt Claudia, give her my congratulations."

Corey smiled again, "I will." He draped one arm over his waist and kept the other hand tucked under the pillow beneath his head, "Okay, now I have a serious question."

"What?" Thomas asked.

"If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?" Corey interrogated curiously, scanning Thomas's expression.

Thomas deliberated for a moment, "I think I have already changed the worst part about myself." "What was that?"

He wondered if he should tell him about his sordid past. Would it make Corey think differently of him? Would it change things as they had naturally evolved, would they suddenly shift paths?

Corey could see the conflict in Thomas's face, "Come on, tell me. I'll tell you about my flaws if you tell me yours!" He teased.

Thomas didn't laugh. Once he decided to tell him, the next step was mustering the courage to say it aloud. He bit his bottom lip and began; "Remember once, I told you about how I did some... things that I regret."

"Yeah."

"They were some pretty childish things. I used to do a lot of drugs with these guys I hung around with. We'd walk the streets at night and go looking for trouble. I got arrested a few times. Had to go to court. I wasn't really happy doing those things, so I decided to make a change. I was on a path to nowhere, and no one was looking out for me, so I came to the conclusion that I had to take care of myself. I quit doing drugs, stayed out of trouble and channeled my energy into something productive.

Corey was unresponsive.

"So, you must think I'm a loser now right."

Corey absorbed his every word with such regard that it took him a moment to find his own voice, "No. I think you're very intelligent. You're an old soul. I can see it in your eyes... like you've lived a thousand lives, and carry wisdom from them all. No matter what happens to you, no matter where you are, you'll always come out on top, because you're a survivor. Those instincts are a part of you."

"I feel old," Thomas whispered, the thickening emotion evident in his soft tone.

Corey broke a sympathetic grin, "There's this place in time," he began softly, "After you learned all of your lessons, after you've seen all there is to see, and seen it through the eyes of a thousand people, in a thousand different times, once you've been both the prince and the pauper, only then do you stand at the Gates of Autumn. That's what they call your last life. Your last time around. Your last lesson. After that, after you die, you go on to this wonderful place. It's like being right at the end of a rainbow. There you see all of this beauty, all of these magnificent colors, so much more vibrant than even the brightest color you've ever seen. It's a reward for completing your mission. You get to witness the most majestic things heaven has to offer. Nothing words can describe, or imagination can conceive. It's in this place that you can finally rest, look back at all of the lives you led, and remember what it was like to be human. Maybe that's where you are... at the Gates of Autumn."

"I thought I've seen you somewhere before," Thomas said, half serious.

Corey closed his eyes, "Maybe you have." With that, he drifted away.

Thomas watched him for a while. The way Corey appeared so peaceful. He reached up and flipped off the light. The room was drenched in a gentle shade of blue from the moon that hovered outside. He adored him. Even loved him. This was what love was. The simple contentedness that filled him just being beside him, such a profound peace. There was no place else he would rather be. It was something like this, a realization of this magnitude that made him for once completely aware of himself. Corey would forever be a part of him, despite what lay in wait for them later on. This was not just the passing of two souls in the night, it was an awakening. He knew he would love him even after death. Even after he passed through the Gates of Autumn, he would remember Corey as the best part of being alive.

Thomas carefully sat up and gained his footing on the floor. He gazed upon the object of his affection, his beloved. He held his breath as Corey turned onto his back, then again, rested. He wished he could witness his dream, somehow be a part of it, share it with him. Thomas wondered if it would be disruptive if he kissed him. Just a small kiss, one he had desired for so long. A light, feathery kiss. If he did stand at the Gates of Autumn and he was to let this moment pass him by, he would always wonder... what if?

He leaned over the edge of the bed, placing one hand on top of Corey's pillow. He was so perfect. The way his full pink lips seemed to smile, even when he wasn't trying. His nose, like a button, his eyes crowned with long, thick lashes. He kissed him lightly on his forehead, so softly that he didn't even believe the kiss could be felt.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered. Then he turned and crept out of the room.

He walked down the hall and just as he began down the stairs, he heard the front door open, then close again. He stopped automatically. Fright speared through his chest and anxiety overwhelmed him. It had to be Corey's Father. What would he think? Here a stranger was walking out of his house while his son slept upstairs. Thomas tried to prepare himself for the worst, expecting Mr. Evans to scold him for intruding on his territory. He had never met the man face to face, for all Thomas knew; Corey's Father would react to him just as his own Father always did.

Taking an apprehensive step down, Mr. Evans came into view. He was facing away from Thomas as he sifted through the pile of mail on the table in the hallway. Thomas reached the end of the stairs and headed toward the door. Just when he thought he had made a clean getaway, he heard Mr. Evans voice.

"Hello?" Timothy Evans called curiously.

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. He tried to rationalize his fear. There was no reason to be worried, he had done nothing wrong. He was just visiting. Thomas turned and pushed his hand through his hair, avoiding Mr. Evans eyes, "Hi."

Timothy placed his mail on the table, staring at Thomas. He approached him slowly, "You must be Chris. I've been waiting to meet you."

Thomas saw the man was smiling, "No. I'm Thomas Bradford. I live right down the street," he explained quietly.

Timothy held out his hand, waiting for Thomas to take it, "Oh, forgive me. You're a friend of Corey's, I've heard so much about you."

Thomas shook his hand. Timothy's grip was not as firm as he expected. It was far too endearing to be hostile, "I've heard a lot about you as well. It's nice to meet you," Thomas said, instantly feeling eased by Timothy's pleasant demeanor.

"It's nice to meet you too, Thomas. Corey keeps telling me about this young man by the name of Chris, I've been waiting to meet him for nearly four months now, so I thought you may be him. An honest mistake," Timothy offered kindly.

"No problem," Thomas replied.

"So, what have you two been up to this evening? By the way, where is Corey?" Timothy asked.

Thomas twirled his thumbs, "He's upstairs. I guess he was really tired because he fell asleep. I was just going home."

"He's been going through quite a bit lately. He was undoubtedly exhausted," Timothy stated, turning toward the hall, motioning for Thomas to join him, "Come and have a cup of tea. Fill me in on all I've been missing."

Thomas hesitated. A part of him wanted to turn and run, not from fear, but from the certain fact he would undoubtedly make Mr. Evans hate him. He was never one to be well like by the adult fare. He felt a spike of panic slice through his chest like a cold blade, but, in an effort to be cooperative, he followed him into the kitchen as Timothy turned on the stove and filled the tea pot.

"I've been so busy at work that I haven't been able to spend much time getting to know my son's friends." After placing the pot on the red burner, he made his way to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for Thomas, then one for himself, "Bradford sounds familiar. I believe there's an orthodontist in town by the name, is that your Father?"

Thomas was reluctant to answer. If he knew his Father then he most likely hated him, just as most of the people in town did. Perhaps Mr. Evans had seen one of his infamous public shouting matches or witnessed his rude and callous demeanor. Just by association he would be immediately judged. Beneath a veil of shame, he placed his hands in his lap and stared at them, "Yes sir."

Timothy noted the young man's reserve, "What does your Mother do?"

"My Mother is no longer with us. She's not dead, or anything. She just left a long time ago," Thomas said, not bearing any sorrow from the fact. He was perfectly used to explaining the matter to strangers. The subject didn't bother him anymore. When he thought of his Mother, he would grow numb, as if he were discussing the weather. He was indifferent.

"I see," Timothy began, regretting his venture into that area. "So you must be getting ready for college. Where do you plan on going?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm hoping to attend an art school somewhere. I've been looking, but I have yet to find one I like," Thomas shared.

"You're an artist! That's a very noble profession. What's your specialty, Graphic arts, Architecture, Virtual design?"

Thomas was thunderstruck. He suddenly felt totally inept- virtually unqualified in making the previous statement, "I- I draw. You know, pencil, charcoal, chalk."

Timothy laughed and patted the young man on the shoulder as he stood and walked toward the stove, where the teapot screeched. He removed it, appeasing the noise, and began pouring them each a cupful of steaming water. "So you want to be the next Leonardo Da Vinci. It's nice to see you have high aspirations. You know, they have this wonderful art school in San Francisco. I have a friend I could contact and find out the details," Timothy suggested.

Thomas was astounded. Mr. Evans hadn't known him for ten minutes, yet he was more than willing to assist him.

"That- that would be great. I'd really appreciate that."

Timothy sat down a hot cup of tea in front of his guest, "Careful, it's really hot," he instructed. He took his seat next to Thomas, "Tell me, I hate to interrogate you about this matter, but seeing as I have yet to meet this Chris fellow, I wonder if you might tell me a little bit about him."

"I don't know him."

"He must have gone to school with you, right."

"I guess. I've only heard Corey mention him a few times. He never really goes into detail." Timothy sipped his tea, "Well, looks like we're both left in the dark. I've asked Corey about him before, but he gives me the same, vague reply every time. I suppose I'll have to insist on meeting him before the relationship goes any further. I just hope he's a nice young man. I trust Corey's choices, but sometimes he has a bit of a naive belief in the kindness of others."

Thinking of Corey, Thomas smiled, "He's a special person."

Timothy grinned, "Yes. He is. He's not your average teenager, that's for sure. That's why I tend to be a little over protective of him. He feels things so easily. Most people his age grow immune to everything but themselves. Usually they're so immersed in their lives, they tend to disregard others. Corey never became immune. He wants to save the world, and everybody in it. He would if he could, too!" He laughed at the notion then took another drink.

Thomas enjoyed talking with Timothy. It had been a long while since he had sat down with an older man and felt completely unguarded, "He's lucky to have such an understanding Father. Most wouldn't be so accepting of a son who is... gay."

Timothy gave him a peculiar glance, "Why do you say that?"

The way Mr. Evans looked at him was as if he were completely blind to the fact, as though the comment had come completely from thin air.

Thomas leaned forward, "Well, you know some parents disown their kids for being..."

Timothy cut him off, "I know. I've heard some very sad stories and seen some very torn families. Disowning my own son seems," He paused, searching for the right word, "Inhumane to me. I suppose other families use religious logic as an excuse, or certain moral convictions. Personally, my wife and I exercise the more realistic means of acceptance. Corey is a good kid. In fact, most parents could only wish they had a son like him. My wife and I consider ourselves lucky to have him. My son was born gay, just like some are born left handed. We knew even before he told us, so it was never an issue. I love him. My wife loves him, and Corey is our child, nothing can take that away. For someone to think that my child is some sort of deviate because of his preferences is nothing less than ignorant. It's a fact of life. I know he'll grow up and become a productive member of society. When there are so many frightening influences out there, to cast out someone because they're gay is the only immoral act to be noted. Corey and I lead a normal life. That one aspect plays no part in establishing what he has the potential of becoming. That comes from the heart, and the head. I think everyone should go into parenthood with one obligation, and that is to pave a solid road for their child to walk on, and a bright light for him to follow, while encouraging him to develop his own individuality. That's really what being a parent is about. When they come to you and they say something that doesn't necessarily fit what you hoped, or expected he would be, to stunt that process of their growth is negligent, and cruel. Homosexuals have a hard enough time being fully embraced even in a modern society, so why would a parent choose to worsen their child's situation by starting the hate at home?"

Timothy saw Thomas was stiffened by his speech, "I'm preaching and I apologize. I was a speaker at the west coast PFLAG conference and I liked it so much I just.. Well I haven't shut up since. I have very firm ground on this subject, as you can see."

Thomas felt refreshed. "You're a good Dad. I wish my Father was like you. Unfortunately, he's not as smart as you."

"It doesn't take smarts, Thomas. It's a matter of common sense, and parental obligation. If a man wants a carbon copy of himself, he should have himself cloned, not have a child," Timothy declared as he finished his tea.

"True. So true."

"You keep what I told you, son, and you'll be a excellent Father someday," Timothy said, sitting back.

Thomas leaned toward him, embracing this unusual feeling of complete comfort, "I've always wanted kids. I want to adopt and have a big family, you know? I have this clear image in my mind, of holidays and all of my children and grandchildren around the table. I have this picture of a big family, that's what I want."

"Well, that's what you'll have then!" Timothy declared.

The hours slipped away and the night wore on as the two Men sat in the presence of the other and delightfully took regard. Timothy, enjoying the youthful enthusiasm of the boy at his side, and Thomas in the interest his elder had displayed.

Finally, Thomas stood up, and Timothy escorted him to the door. "I'm glad that Corey has a friend like you. I know he's in good hands," Timothy complimented.

"I really like him, Sir. I'd never let anything happen to him," Thomas reassured as he reached the door.

"Just between you and me, I know Corey is really fond of you as well. He goes on and on about you," Timothy informed.

"Does he?" Thomas asked confounded.

Mr. Evans nodded as he placed his arm around Thomas, "Yes, he does."

Thomas opened the door, "Thank you, Mr. Evans. For the tea and for the talk."

Timothy held onto Thomas's shoulder, "You can call me Tim. Mr. makes me sound like an old man, and you're perfectly welcome, Tom."

They shook hands and Thomas walked out into the cool evening air. He walked off the porch and onto the lawn. He turned once toward the house as the porch light went off, and then continued on his way.

Gabe watched him from his bedroom window. It made him nauseous to see Thomas Bradford at Corey's house. It was well past 2 a.m., so what was he doing there? When he could no longer repress the urgency to know, he jumped off the bed and ran downstairs, soaring through the front door onto the lawn, dashing toward Thomas.

"Hey. Hey Thomas!" Gabe called.

Thomas stopped, facing him. Gabe Cavanaugh?

Gabe reached him, "I thought I saw you coming from Corey's house," Gabe stated, breathing hard.

"So," Thomas retorted indignantly. Aside from evening games of Hide and seek years ago when they were children and those two weeks when all of the other kids on Harrington had Chicken Pox and Thomas and Gabe were the only ones unaffected so they played with each other, Gabe had never bothered to talk to him before. Thomas never desired him to. It had always been obvious to both of them that they had nothing in common.

"I just..." Gabe had to think fast, he didn't want to appear as if he cared, "I was just surprised to see it. I know that you and I have never really been friends or anything like that, but I just thought I should warn you..."

"Warn me about what?" Thomas asked solidly.

Gabe stepped up onto the curb, coming closer to Thomas, "He's gay."

Thomas was faceless. Gabe expected him to gag, or withdraw in disbelief. Everyone knew that Thomas was a skinhead, or something like that. Always in trouble, hated everyone, and everything. Surely he would not stand to be in the presence of a known homosexual. It was a genius plan. Certainly Thomas would be sent running for the hills with his tail between his legs. That would solve all of Gabe's problems.

"And..." Thomas said uncaring. He was disgusted that Gabe thought he was doing him a favor by telling him. This was all it took to vindicate his previous suspicions. Gabe was a brainless, airhead, jock.

Gabe continued, "And if people see you cavorting with someone like that, they might get the wrong idea about you. You don't want people thinking that you're a-"

"A queer? A faggot? A raging homo? Is that it? No, Gabe, I'm not afraid. I don't give a shit about what people think of me. If they weren't so pathetically bored with their own lives, they wouldn't have to have their faces crammed into my business, nor would they care about what I'm doing, or who I'm fucking anyway, now would they? So instead of acting like you're on some divine mission to rescue me from the big, bad fairy, why don't you take your little ass back where it came from and ask yourself why you ran out here in the middle of the night to ask me such a retarded question in the first place, and I'm sure you'll find that it wasn't for my benefit," Thomas scowled irritated.

Gabe recoiled in shock. Thomas wasn't running... "What are you talking about? I'm trying to help you out here!" Gabe spat.

"You aren't trying to help me. You're just trying to dig for information. What do you want me to tell you Cavanaugh, he has frilly lingerie in his closet? He conducts all male orgies in his backyard? Is that what you want to hear?" Thomas blasted furiously.

Somehow, this wasn't going as planned. Open mouth, insert foot. Gabe felt inferior as Thomas began away, and inferiority was intolerable, especially when weighed against a social invalid like Thomas Bradford.

He chased him, "I'm not fishing for information. All I am doing is trying to look out for you." "Yeah? Well, don't do me any favors. You don't even know him. You don't know me." Thomas muttered.

Flabbergasted, Gabe continued after him, "I do know him!" He retorted, before stopping to think of the consequences.

Thomas halted, spinning to face him, "If you knew him, then why would you be out here warning me about being seen with him. I'm not ashamed. He's my friend. He's more of a friend to me than anyone has ever been before. If you truly knew Corey, you would never condemn him, or anybody else for being with him."

"I'm not condemning him. It's not like I'm the village idiot here, man! I'm just telling you what I know," Gabe declared in defense.

"Oh yeah, and just what do you know," Thomas mocked. Gabe suddenly felt armed. He was pulling out the big guns now.

"I know that Corey has a boyfriend. His boyfriend is my best friend- as a matter of fact... I know that he loves him, and I know that if you try to fuck things up, you'll be sorry." Bull's eye. Gabe could see the life draining out of Thomas's face. All Thomas could do was stare. No matter how hard he tried, nothing would escape his mouth.

Defeated, he slowly turned, feeling as if he was a mirror, and Gabe was the rock that had just shattered him into a million pieces. Gabe quietly rejoiced victoriously as Thomas grew farther away. He knew that he wouldn't be getting in his way any longer. He didn't have to worry about Thomas taking Corey from him.

"Thomas..." Gabe called out.

Thomas stopped again, but couldn't turn to face him again.

"If you think about it, why would Corey ever want a friend like you? A drug addict, a loser, you have a record, right? You're kidding yourself. If you really gave a shit about him you would stay as far away from him as you can get," Gabe said, walking backwards into the street, heading back home.

Thomas stood heavy. Anger inflamed every pore of his flesh. He wanted to fight, to yell, to rip Gabe apart, yet he could not move a muscle. He just stood there. Quiet. Alone. Even if he could function, what would he say? Gabe was right, and he knew that. Corey loved another. Another more worthy of the love he had to give. Thomas would never contest the fact that his feelings were a fantasy, but it was like a knife in the chest when it was used against him.

To look at Thomas, the way he stood against the wind, his face void of any expression, no one could tell he was suffering. Perhaps the only indication was the one, lonely tear winding it's way over his chiseled face, falling from his chin to the cold sidewalk far below.

"What am I doing?" Gabe thought as he walked into his bedroom, now the victim of the pounding guilt that devoured him. It was never like him to be so heartless. He was sorry for attacking Thomas the way he had. He didn't want to hurt him. It was like, all of his emotions began to twist and turn like a cyclone inside of him. The bitter taste of raw jealousy wrapped itself around his tongue and poisoned his insides and all he could think about was ridding Thomas of the picture. He was scared, even paranoid, and he realized it was irrational, he could talk to himself aloud and attempt to soothe the churning emotions that controlled him, but the emotions always won over the logic.

Thomas just happened to be an innocent bystander who stepped into the line of fire and posed a threat. Gabe was a reasonable man. He knew it was wrong to threaten Thomas when he really didn't even know him, though he'd heard plenty of stories about his drug problem, and his criminal offenses. Maybe there was no justifying his actions. Maybe Thomas never intended on soliciting Corey. All right, so there was that possibility, but nevertheless, Gabe swooped in and eliminated any chance of losing Corey. That's what really mattered... Corey. In a world that was ready to swallow Gabe whole, while the rest fell away, Corey would be all that remained. He laid on his pillow staring at the ceiling. The tiny droplets of dried paint, along with the perforated wrinkles created a collection of shapes above him. It was then that Gabe realized how deep he'd gotten. When would he stop pretending? What would happen in the final chapter of his chaotic story? How could he salvage all he treasured, or had he sacrificed it all in the very beginning? He didn't know how it would end, but someday, the truth would come out. He would have to tell Corey, and then Rachel would know. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. Never did he think he would find himself here, at this point in life, where he relied so much on everyone else to hide him from the one thing he loved most. Thomas wasn't ashamed of being seen with Corey... maybe that was Gabe's biggest threat. There was no shield in front of Thomas, nothing to fear. Perhaps it wasn't just jealousy over Corey that fueled his anger, but resentment of Thomas's freedom.

twelve

Ashes, Ashes We All Fall Down

The winds began to shift, bringing an ominous chill down from the North. Leaves crowning the majestic trees had started to lose their rich, green vibrancies as new colors erupted from the branches. Red, yellow, and orange drenched the tops in a spray, clearly warning of the impending season. The once warm Sadie would soon find itself wrapped in the swaddling blanket of cold. They were on the cusp of September, the beginning of a long journey into another hard winter.

Despite the gradual drop in temperature, the gossiping geese still managed to inhabit their regular corner. Huddled like members of a football team getting a new game plan. You could bet your left arm that their mouths were running at the speed of light, their lips flapping like a sheet in the wind, and their ears were perked like a fox, eagerly indulging in their daily sin. Audrey, Janice, Mary Cavanaugh, Lucille and Kay, were all decked out in their housewife garb. Audrey in her hair rollers and hot pink housecoat, Lucille in her brown slacks and silk green shirt, Janice in her normal state of fashion disaster, with a lacy, country-western blouse, an ankle length plaid hoop skirt, and a red ribbon in her thin, white hair. The younger of the five, Kay, was dressed in a one piece jumper, decorated with tiny teddy bears and balloons, something you would expect a five year old to wear to a party. Mary was the only one dressed half way sensibly, never one to be flashy, she wore a pair of dark blue slacks, and a short sleeved shirt, a great deal more reserved then those in her company.

Needless to say, they were all aware of each other's lack of fashion taste, but none of them of their own. Securing her rollers, feeling to make sure none had loosened, Audrey took her famous stance. Her hands propped on her wide hips, one foot in front of the other, her face like she had just eaten a sour grape. She was watching a young man leaving Lola Collier's house down the street. "Look at that," she mumbled thoroughly insulted, "That is the third man to come and go today," she observed. It was a credible observation, after all, she had been watching since seven that morning.

Janice twirled the tassels hanging from her lapel around her finger, "I'll be darned. It's a wonder she can still walk. What do you think all these young men see in her? Maybe it's because she's a redhead, you know what they say about redheads."

"What do they say about redheads," Lucille asked sternly, not that it was her intention to sound so. It was just her nature.

Janice gave her a queer look, thinking hard, "Well," she started, "I don't know. I just heard someone say that one time."

Lucille stared at the mousy woman, "Janice, next time God is handin' out brains please remember to get in line."

"In one ear and out the other." Janice huffed quietly, gazing off.

Kay leaned inward, "I bet I know how she snags so many young ones," she stated gravely. All eyes were on her.

"Why?" Mary asked.

"I think... she sells it," Kay finished.

Silence.

Audrey grew a queer expression, "Sells what?" She snapped.

"Well," Kay said, "I don't mean Avon."

Janice scratched her head; she looked like her brain hurt, "Mary Kay?"

"No, Janice! I mean she's..." Kay struggled. She didn't want to sound like she knew to much about the subject, "She's loose."

Gasping, their hands went over their mouths, "Oh dear Lord!" Audrey declared, "She's a Prost-" She couldn't finish, it was too vulgar to imagine.

"A Protestant?" Janice asked, clearly lost.

"A Prostitute, Jan." Kay nodded pleased, "Why do you think all the strangers come in and out of there. She's putting out!"

Mary clenched her chest in distress, "Why would she have to do... that, if she killed her husband and got all of his money, I doubt she's hurting much."

Lucille sighed, analyzing the situation, "Maybe she's one of those sex addicts. One of those broads who can't get enough of it. What do they call them?"

"Kleptomaniac," Mary announced contented.

They all nodded in agreement.

Audrey shook her head disparagingly, "I'll tell you, when judgment day comes, that woman is going to have a lot of explaining to do. I was just listening to A.M. radio the other day, and this man said the end of the world is upon us. God has sent us a message and no one is listening. Why do you think all of this evil has worked it's way into our lives? There's tornadoes, volcanoes erupting, hurricanes coming left and right, cults of every kind, homosexuals, killers, prostitutes, global warming, the ice caps are melting, the sun is giving off solar flares that are affecting our environment, comets coming to close to Earth for comfort, earthquakes, mud slides, Aliens mutilating cattle, sex infested media, diseases our immune system can't fight, scientists messing with genetic structures, computers leading our lives, false prophets, speakers of the devil, people committing crimes against humanity, and it's not just the colored people anymore! There are too many false religions to count, like Jehovah's Witnesses, Jews, Mormons, Baptists, that one church that Tom Cruise joined, Scientomogy. God is weeping for these people. He's trying to tell them that Christianity is the way. I am just thankful that I'm a member of The Christian Fellowship, I've reserved my ticket to heaven," she spewed aggressively, finally taking a breath.

Mary sneered at her. Audrey's narrow minded views infuriated her. Just because Mary didn't attend Audrey's cherished Christian Fellowship Church, she refused to believe she was going to perish. They had this discussion many times, and Audrey was unrelenting. She believed everyone except herself, and those like her, were destined for hell. Mary could speak up, she could come up with some witty lash, but she refrained. It would do her no good to comment; Audrey would just feel threatened and begin ranting on again about her carved-in-stone beliefs. Bitch.

Lucille pursed her lips, "Good God, Audrey! I think you just broke a damn world record. I was waiting for your head to start spinnin' around!"

Mary snickered, she knew she could rely on Lucille to say the things no one else had the guts too. Laughter echoed like a tune in her head, like a child teasing, Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Audrey crossed her arms across her sagging breasts, "I'm just saying," she muttered.

Rachel and Carol walked down Main Street. It seemed as if their time together had become more substantial than it used to be. Their discussions more open and revealing as new trust had developed between them. Carol had gone through a major change, both internally, and externally. Rachel noticed that she held her head up when others passed. The strength she possessed had always been there, just hidden beneath layers of damaged spirit. She was more beautiful than she ever had been before. A woman of forty-five, appearing as bright and fresh as a newborn. Rachel was proud of her. She could now look at this strong woman, and say with pride, "That's my Mom; I want to be like her someday."

They came to a large glass door, clearly marked, "Timothy Evans, Attorney at Law," without any hesitation, or a shimmer of doubt, Carol pushed her way inside, Rachel following close behind.

The office was not as drab as Carol expected. The walls were covered in a lovely country print wallpaper, deer leaping over fences. A ceiling fan spun in the center of the ceiling, supplying them with intervals of light breeze. On the walls hung large framed oil paintings of idyllic cabins nestled in far off places. She could see lighthouses, and docks leading out over the water. Radiant skies, like those after a summer thunderstorm. The paintings offered a very pleasant atmosphere, one she was immediately grateful here, under such unpleasant circumstances.

They took their seats along the wall and waited. "You all right?" Rachel asked softly. She knew this couldn't be easy. Not after spending so many years with her Father. Rachel knew this was the one place Carol had never imagined herself. Despite all she had been through, she remained resilient.

Carol grabbed her daughter's hand and squeezed it, smiling, "I'm fine. I just want to get this all over with. What about you?"

"I'm okay. I know this is for the best," she said. She did know. This was the first step toward a brand new life for her mother, who more than deserved it after waiting in the trenches for so long.

The door opposite them flew open. Mr. Evans peeked out and offered a polite grin. He recognized Rachel right away, "Rachel! Nice to see you again."

Rachel and Carol stood as they all met halfway. "This is my Mother," Rachel announced. Timothy took Carol's hand into his own and gently shook it, "You and your daughter look so much alike, I could've easily guessed." He directed them into his office, which was a great deal smaller than the lobby. It was clean, seemingly very organized.

Rachel and Carol took their seats, as Timothy moved onto the other side of his desk, putting on his wire frame glasses he glanced down at the file beneath him. "After I spoke with you on the telephone, I began typing up the papers. Now, the one thing that I have to ask is what are you stating as grounds for the divorce?"

Carol tensed in her chair, "I- I don't quite understand the question."

Timothy grinned, "It's all very technical. For you to be granted a divorce, I have to put down the reason you're filing. I know it's very personal, but unfortunately, these things are never easy."

Oh god! This was embarrassing. She had to tell this stranger about all she had known, and lived with for years. He would surely think her a fruit. "My husband had an affair," she began, "Well, affairs," she added, "It's plural." She watched as Timothy scribbled something down on the sheet of paper in front of him. Carol clutched her purse to her abdomen, "For about five years, he had many different affairs. He got one of the women pregnant," she informed coyly, then continued, "He also neglected us... emotionally."

"How did you come to find out about his indiscretions?" Timothy inquired.

Carol felt as if a bowling ball were in her stomach, her mouth was dry, like a desert, "I found out about the first one five years ago. I caught him with his secretary. He knew that I had found out, though, I never openly confronted him. It was then he started to separate himself from me. Then he was more visible with his women. One time he came home to grab some clothes; he had a lady waiting for him in the car out front of our house. I would find telephone numbers in his pants pockets. His shirts would often have lipstick marks in the collar. He didn't care much that I knew... I guess it just didn't matter to him."

Timothy looked up over the frames of his glasses, "Is he aware that you're filing for a divorce?"

"Oh yes. He knows. He knows," Carol replied smiling. She wondered if the cleaners had yet scraped the charred remains of his belongings from the ceramic walls of her swimming pool.

"So you knew of his extramarital acts and tolerated the neglect, and you're just now filing? Why didn't you do this five years ago?" Timothy laughed, trying to comfort her by breaking the ice. He could tell she was a nervous, possibly even scared, by the rigid way she sat.

Carol didn't answer right away, when she finally did, it was through a veil broken words, "I loved him."

Timothy fell serious. He stared at the sad figure with a sympathetic expression, "I know you did." He watched as Rachel reached into her Mother's lap and grasped her hand. There was a long history here. One that had left two lives spiraling, but the power between this family, this Mother and child, this would heal all wounds. In time, they would stand again. Timothy knew all too well about loving someone and losing them, and with that, he felt he shared a common ground with Carol. They had a long path ahead of them, but they would successfully find home, with the light of their children, and their love to guide them.

Dottie Feldon staggered through the living room. She walked slowly, doing her very best to keep her balance. It didn't help that, on her feet were a pair of black high heels three times to small. Her hefty ankles spilled out over the sides and a large bulge protruded from under the leather buckle. Her flesh was red and her veins visibly purple from the lack of circulation.

Dottie didn't care; after all, she would only wear them for a moment or two. She couldn't risk Angie catching her. If Angie found out that her Mother had been in her closet again, and was wearing her brand new high heels she would surely have a fit. Dottie wanted feel sexy. She thought the heels would give her legs a more succulent look. Make her five foot two, three hundred and forty pound frame seem more appealing.

With her face tense and red from agony, and her jaw working a huge piece of gum that she gnawed at aggressively, Dottie waddled over to the full length mirror that sat on the far wall. She had to stop several times, just to re-position her tormented feet, and then begin again.

She smiled to herself, "You are one hot Momma."

She situated the gaping neckline of her size 2X floral print moo-moo and struck a seductive pose, one arm behind her head, pushing her lips outward into a pout as though she were a 1940's pinup girl.

She finally made her way to the sofa opposite the mirror, leaning against the back of it and sighed heavily. She looked at her open pack of Marlboro's on the coffee table and held out her arm toward them, not really trying to reach them, but somehow hoping that by some metaphysical act they would see her situation and just float over. Defeated, she flung herself backward with the sofa to cushion her fall. Now her cigarettes were within reach. She grabbed the pack off the table, pulled one out and lit it. She struggled for a long moment to sit back up and gain her bearings and eventually won.

The moment her feet touched the floor again she felt spikes of searing pain shoot upward, yet it didn't stop her. She stood up, glanced at herself in the mirror, placed the cigarette so it hung loosely off her bottom lip and took a seductive stance, leaning back against the sofa, tossing back her bleached hair. She observed her reflection intensely, then reached down and hiked up the corner of her moo-moo revealing a great mass of her pincushion leg.

She spoke quietly as she took a heavy drag of her smoke. "My name is R-r-r-ramona, I'll be your mistress tonight," she breathed.

Just then, she heard a clatter at the top of the staircase and jolted hard. Standing up nervously, she immediately felt her left heel buckle beneath her and she nearly fell. Luckily, she caught herself on the sofa. She reached down, her expression one of panic, and pulled off the shoe. The heel was holding on by a single thread of rubber. Dottie's face fell. She took the huge wad of gum from her mouth and began the repair.

Angie stepped slowly down the stairs. The billows of her Mother's cigarette smoke floated through the narrow rays of sunlight that were peeking through the eaves in the blinds. She felt an inch tall. She stopped at the landing and straightened her twisted bra strap beneath the velvet material of her black dress. Had her face not been a direct admission of her discomfort, one would think her to be royalty. She had done her best, with her hair piled up in loose curls around a braided bun on top of her head, and her face a flawless display of beauty, she should have been proud.

Despite her visible efforts, she felt minuscule. She just KNEW people would laugh. She just KNEW she would end up being the punch-line to a bunch of chubby jokes. She could hear them all now, "Look at Angie! That dress must be spandex!" They could all go to hell. She didn't care. She would just turn the other cheek and ignore them. She had become quite good at that. She had, after all, had years of experience. She could repeat that over and over in her head. "I don't care, I don't care, I don't care." In fact, she did. She hated herself for doing so, but it still got to her every time. Little did they know that she had already lost twenty pounds since the beginning of the summer, and that the dress she wore now, was one her evil bitch grandmother had sent her three summers ago. Back then Angie would have been lucky to fit a leg inside.

She straightened her diamond, heart-shaped necklace and laid it at the top of her cleavage. Thank God she only had to do this once. After the dance she would come home and revert back to her comfort zone, with a blouse, slacks and no make-up. This make-up thing wasn't all that bad she guessed. Perhaps she was over dramatizing a bit. After all, she kind of liked this transformation, though she would never admit it out loud. It made her wonder how she would look if she invested this much effort when she got her new body.

Just then, Dottie came whipping around the corner, she stopped for a fleeting second, took a stride backward, tossing her hand across her mouth, excitedly gasping then squealing beneath it. Then, she lowered her hands to her chest, admiring her beautiful child.

"Well blow me down with a chicken feather, Angie. You look like a million bucks!"

Angie didn't smile, "You have to say that, you're my Mom."

"Oh stop being such a bitch!" Her mother smiled, running her fingers along Angie's shoulder, feeling the soft material. "You cleaned up real nice. My God girl, whoever knew you could be so pretty. You should do this more often. Might catch yourself a man. Men like classy lookin' girls."

Angie rolled her eyes. This was her way of silently dismissing her Mother.

"Stand up straight and keep your shoulders back, otherwise your tits'll sag. We don't want any of'em boys thinking you need to push around a wheelbarrow everywhere you go now do we? Are you wearin' a bra?"

"Of course I'm wearing a bra!" Angie moaned distressed.

Her Mother lunged at her, pulling down her neckline, peering inside, as if searching for treasure in Angie's cleavage.

Angie jumped back, grasping her neck defensively. She stared at her Mom in disbelief.

Mother smiled innocently, "Oh come on Angie! You was naked as a jay bird the first time I saw ya. Ya ain't got nothin' I ain't seen already. It's a little late to be modest. I'm just sayin' that your boobs look a little different... smaller maybe. Thought you went and got one of them there Miracle Bras. You know the ones that squish your tits up and in."

Angie brushed a piece of lint from the velvet, "It's not a special bra, Mother. It's just one I picked up a few days ago. It's a regular bra, okay?"

"My tit's sag. See baby, back in my day we didn't wear bras. Now that I think about it, I'm wishin' I had worn one of them bras when I was your age. Maybe my boobs wouldn't hang so low. It's all about maintenance, if ya take care of yer shit while it's still good, you'll keep'em that way longer. By the time I was twenty I couldn't even run anymore for fearin' one of my knockers would fly up and hit me in the face. When they're firm and perky, they're cute, but when they get bigger than a basketball and weigh ya down, they're scary. You don't want boobs like me, baby, big ones intimidate guys... they think they're dangerous, like they should have a suffocation hazard tattooed across'em."

Angie walked into the living room, "Have you seen my new shoes?"

Dottie swallowed a gulp of air as she followed, "Can't say that I have."

Just then, Angie spotted the open toe of one of her heels sticking out from beneath the arm of the sofa. She hurried toward them exasperated. "Here they are! How did they get down here! Have you been wearing my things again?"

Dottie fanned herself distantly, "I don't wear your things Angie, got my own things. Where you goin' anyway?"

Angie perched herself on the arm and pulled out both shoes and began putting them on, "It's the farewell dance at the high school. Gives everyone a chance to say their good-bye's before we leave for college next week."

Dottie eyed her daughter curiously, almost trying to decipher any sarcastic undertones in her voice, yet she detected none. "After all those kids have done to you, why would you even bother saying good-bye."

Angie froze solid, as if a sudden cast of stone had molded itself over her flesh, encasing her inside. It would seem that, throughout the many years and uncountable events that Angie believed had gone unnoticed by her mother, they in fact hadn't. The times she would run home from school in tears, trying to get as far away from any disparagement as she could. When she would lay in her room and struggle to muffle her cries, praying that somehow, someway, someday she would see the reason that God had put her here, made her this way, gave her this face, and those harrowing trials.

While in public with her Mother, when nameless faces and soulless eyes of her peers would snicker and try to diminish her without saying a word, Angie always hoped her mother wouldn't see them, she was afraid that if her mother knew, she be embarrassed of her, just as bitch Grandma had been. She would think her a coward, or even worse, believe her to be deserving of the ridicule. Then again, she wanted her Mother to know, she needed consolation, she needed her mother's arms around her, she needed to know that despite the way the world, or even Sadie, viewed her. This was not what she was.

All in all, as these thoughts rambled through Angie's head, she realized that the child that cowered in the shadows and turned away when judgmental eyes found her, was gone forever. The battle was hers, and she had fought it alone, perhaps by choice, perhaps by circumstance.

What she didn't know- All this time, Dottie knew. She remained silent for Angie's benefit, never allowing herself to swoop in and rescue her like some Supermom. She supported Angie in everything she did, knowing that if Angie had something to say, if she needed to weep, Angie would come to her. The topic was never outwardly addressed, mostly because Angie never insinuated the need and Dottie was unsure of how to approach it without adding salt to Angie's open wounds... embarrassing her, adding to her torment, taking away the one place where she could feel safe and shut out all of her troubles, the one place where nothing, no one could cause her to feel inferior. Though Dottie kept her concerns to herself, she secretly harbored an intense hatred for those kids, for this world, one she sent her daughter out into every day to suffer. Alongside the hate nested hope... Angie was strong. This would make her stronger, one day she would stand tall, suitors would fight for her hand, and she would openly speak with confidence and smile at those who looked upon her. Never did a doubt arise when Dottie wondered about Angie's future, it was as if she knew that her child would rise above whatever obstacles that confronted her, and she would emerge triumphant.

Angie stood and took a slight step toward her Mom, a modest grin gracing her glowing face. As she looked into her Mother's eyes, Angie noted an overwhelming sentiment, something unspoken, but very present. She wrapped her arm over Dottie's shoulders and closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of contentedness.

She closed her eyes as she spoke softly into her Mother's ear. "I've come so far... I'll be okay... I'll be okay."

Dottie held back her emotion, fronting what was inadvertently visible, "I know. I always knew." Angie kissed her lightly on the cheek, then withdrew. She moved past her and out of the living room toward the foyer, and as she stepped up onto the landing, she turned to her Mother once again, framed in the archway. Dottie stared at her with pride and reverence, and for the first time, Angie saw it, acknowledged it.

She watched as Angie turned away once again. It wasn't but a moment or two before Angie would reach the door, and Dottie picked at her fake fingernail until she heard it close behind her. She sighed with relief, her shoulders falling, and then... a scream, a sudden clumsy thumping on the old wooden planks of the front porch... and finally, a THUD!

Thomas sat on the edge of his bed clenching the brochure in his hands tightly, his eyes fixated on the cover. The words leapt at him, golden letters emblazoned on a crimson background: THE SAN FRANCISCO ART INSTITUTE.

He was in deep thought, entranced by the possibilities. Suddenly, the phone bellowed beside him. Thomas jolted, immediately picking up the receiver before it could further disrupt the intense quiet. "Hello?" Thomas said, still half surprised.

On the other end spoke a soft voice, one so familiar. "Hi," Corey said quietly.

Thomas could sense the smile on Corey's face, though he could not see him. He pictured him standing in his window, the breezes caressing his raven mane, the sun reflecting off of his puffy lips. One hand holding the telephone to his ear, the other draped across his chest, resting upon his arm... bathed in a soft white light, looking down at the landscape below... and that voice, so incredibly delicate. Thomas hesitated for a moment, caught up in the imagery. When he finally found his voice, he spoke, "Hey."

"I'm beginning to think I've offended you. It's been days and you haven't even bothered to call or stop by. I'm sure you're busy, but I just wanted to... I don't know... guess I wanted to hear your voice."

Thomas smiled modestly as if he weren't alone in his room, like Corey may see him from where he stood, beaming. "Well, I've got a lot on my mind... you know how it goes. I kind of figured with this being your last week in Sadie you'd be spending time with what's his name... Chris." Corey was quiet for a second. He almost felt guilty for wanting to talk to Thomas, as if he should be devoting all his time to Chris... it sounded perfectly logical after all. Chris was supposed to be his boyfriend, but Corey didn't have the appetite for his company. His appetite yearned for Thomas. It seemed wrong, but Corey was torn between his relationship with Chris and his unrelenting feelings for Thomas. Chris had called him every night, but to Corey, the anatomy of their relationship had changed, the curiosity was gone... and the burn from his antics had left a scar. It wasn't like Corey to be so fickle, but he couldn't deny the fact that his feelings for Thomas had far surpassed those he had for Chris, which even now, upon hearing Thomas' voice, continued to dissipate, while those feelings for Thomas grew.

Corey took a shallow breath, "I have the whole rest of the week to spend with Chris," Corey dismissed eagerly.

"Well, a week isn't that long if you really think about it... time moves faster when we enjoy it... a week with someone you love can disappear in the blink of an eye," Thomas said thoughtfully. He was being honest. He knew that if he had been in Chris' position, he would be with Corey right now.

"So, do you want to hang up?" Corey asked meekly, "If you're looking for a reason to hang up, if you don't want to talk, just tell me."

Thomas didn't say anything. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Corey, he DID want to talk to him, and he had so many things running through his mind, things he needed to say, that had he actually began to reiterate them, he may never shut up. His purpose for the silence was not to diminish Corey, but to somehow say "The things I have to say I know you do not want to hear, and should I say them, they would be for my own benefit, my own selfishness, for I know you love another and could never love me, But I love you," without saying a word. Recollections of his interlude with Gabe, and the blunt reality he so viciously pointed out overwhelmed his desire to admit the truth. Corey would laugh.

The silence lingered. Corey's expression fell, "Are you angry with me?"

Thomas searched for validation. A convincing way to explain his distance without seeming weak and vulnerable, both of which he was. "No. I'm just tired. I have important things in my life that need addressing and I should be being productive with my time instead of... you know, dwelling on one thing. They say if you aren't happy with the current equation, the you have to take yourself out of the element, especially when you're defeating yourself by wishful thinking." "I don't understand. What aren't you happy with?" Corey inquired curiously.

"It's not for you to understand, Corey. It's my problem."

"Well tell me, I'm your friend, that's what I'm here for!" Corey shot back without thinking. Instantly Thomas reacted, like a trigger had been pulled and the result was explosive. Thomas stood up fast, "I don't want you to be my friend! Okay, I don't need you to be my friend! So just stop!" He scorned.

Corey stood shocked; he waited for Thomas to continue.

Thomas pressed his fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes tightly. He sighed, "I didn't mean that, I'm sorry. I just can't talk right now, Corey. I have to go." And with that, Thomas hung up.

Corey listened to the dead air, hoping that Thomas would pick the phone up once again. He did not. He held the telephone to his ear until a recording, mechanical and unaware, decided to inform him that his call had been disconnected. He placed the receiver upon the cradle and sank into a chair, attempting to decipher the cause of Thomas' anger. Even still, his words stung.

Thomas' heart pounded against the wall of his chest. He was regretting his attack. He had sworn long ago that he wouldn't let his emotions get the best of him. Corey probably though he was a schizophrenic, or just insane altogether. How could he be so childish? He had encountered larger issues than this and he managed to face each one head on without fear. When it came to Corey, He was a virtual melting pot of emotions, happy to hear him, anxious to be close to him, censoring his thoughts so that when the transition was made from his mind to his tongue, he didn't sound like a lovelorn idiot. He was afraid of losing Corey, and if he ever gained the courage to tell him how he felt, he knew he would. Yet, keeping all of it inside seemed to inflame his soul. It ate at him, provoked him to say and do things he wouldn't normally. He was angry for letting this happen, for being a coward, and for falling victim to the thing called love.

"THOMAS!" His Father screamed from downstairs.

Thomas didn't even wince. He sighed and stirred from the bed. He walked out of his room into the hallway and stopped at the top of the stairwell.

"Yeah?" Thomas replied.

"Come here!"

Thomas scrambled down the steps. He didn't want to deal with his father right now. It was undoubtedly about a glass he hadn't washed after using, or the light bulb in the den he had forgotten to change. Stupid stuff. Thomas walked into the living room where Mr. Bradford sat grinning on the couch, a sly, almost maniacal grin. Thomas couldn't help but smile upon the sight of him; A smug, imbecilic creature.

"What?" Thomas asked amused.

Mr. Bradford stared at him, "Who was on the phone?"

"Just one of my friends," Thomas answered.

"You don't have any friends."

Thomas didn't even bother to answer.

From under his leg, Mr. Bradford pulled up a telephone receiver and held it up; he began speaking in a falsetto voice, "Tell me all your problems, Tommy, that's what I'm here for. I'm your friend. I'll understand."

The amusement in Thomas' face immediately vanished. His eyes grew and his breathing became labored, "You were listening?" Mr. Bradford nodded.

"Corey's that kid down the street, right?" He took a gulp of his Vodka, chugging the entire glass, then reaching for the accessible bottle nestled at his side to refill. "Is he the one you say cares about you?"

Thomas stood firm, "He's a good person. He's nice to me."

Mr. Bradford laughed robustly while Thomas pierced him with his eyes. There had been moments when he loved his father; there were more moments when he hated him. This was one of the latter. The way he sat there, a typical alcoholic, his dress shirt hanging stained half out of his waistband. His tie loose around his neck, his eyes bloodshot, and the stench of his preferred beverage oozing from every pore of his yellow flesh.

Mr. Bradford calmed slowly, his laughter becoming a squeaking, drawn out breath. He leaned back against the cushion of the sofa and glanced up at his stone faced son, "You know he's a queer, don't you? You'd have to be blind as a bat not to see it. That's one thing about you Tom, anybody shows you the least bit of attention and you stick to them like a God damned suction cup on a windshield. Ya see, boy... you just don't have the eyes for it. I can tell one when I see'em. They walk a certain way, fags..." He tilted his neck from side to side as though it ached, "And that one, well... they don't come any more limp-wristed than that."

Thomas felt spears of electricity travel up his spine and crawl over his skin. His eyes were still fixed intensely on the man before him, "You can tell?" He asked in a low, gravelly voice, one that radiated from his lips with perfect intent, unfaltering.

"Yep."

Thomas' stomach tightened, his fists were bound, "Look at me."

Mr. Bradford offered a slight glance, then turned back away, still grinning, but for no reason, just to exalt himself, "Just flip on the T.V., You can spot a-"

Thomas interrupted in a demanding manner, not raising his voice, but repeating again, "Look at me."

Mr. Bradford paused and glanced up at him surprised, a half- cocked smirk plastered across his face, "What?" He asked rather innocently.

"Can you tell with me? Do I look gay to you?" Thomas asked bluntly. He didn't even flinch, he appeared steady and serious.

Mr. Bradford looked at him, then stood up, "Of course not, why would you ask such a stupid-"

"WRONG!" Thomas howled, closing his eyes, drawing it out as if triumphant. He felt a release like the bars to his prison had been lifted and he was finally free. He could breathe, and upon that release, as soon as it manifested before him, he smiled.

Mr. Bradford pushed his lips out crossly, almost appearing stumped. Clearly he wasn't expecting such a reaction. His eyebrows curled and scratched the inside of his ear, trying to gain back his frame of mind, which like a speeding locomotive had been thrown completely off track leaving him sidelined for a few minutes. To Thomas, this was priceless. After using his pointer finger to dig at his ear, Mr. Bradford pointed at him, "You shut up! You are not!" He scolded, like he was telling Thomas he could not go outside and play, and in return, Thomas would stick out his bottom lip, cross his arms and stomp upstairs to pout.

Thomas' smile grew wider, "Yeah! Yes I am."

"No you are not!"

"Oh yes, yes I am," Thomas announced joyously, nodding his head.

"I said hell no!" His father yelled in protest.

"I said YES! HELL YES!"

His Father marched up to him fast and stood in Thomas' face, his nostrils flaring, "You are not gay! You just think you are because-"

Thomas stopped him by stepping into him, something he had never done prior to this instance. He was meeting his Father on equal ground, not cowering- "Because why? Because I don't have a mother, because my life has always been so fucked up that I had to teach myself how to be normal, or because I grew up being your punching bag! Is that why I'm gay? You're wrong, Dad, you're so fucking wrong. If who I am today had anything to do with you, I'd be the straightest guy on Earth, I'd either hate or be afraid of every guy out there because you've pushed that into my brain since I was a kid. I'm going to be proud of who I am and what I do from now on. For too many years I thought I was a mistake, I thought everything about me was a mistake and I thought my whole life would be me waiting to die. That's why I did the things I did, that's why I didn't care, because you never showed me any different. So, don't you dare try to take credit for this or tell me any different because the one thing I have control over is my mind, and as of this moment, I take it back. If you want to hit me, go ahead, beat me until I bleed, but know this, Dad... I have already won."

Mr. Bradford remained perfectly still, both held firm in the other's eye line, he raised his hand and instinctively Thomas pushed it away and retreated back a step. Mr. Bradford paused, the wrinkles on his leathery face becoming more evident than usual. Somehow he appeared suddenly sober. "I'm not going hit you," He said quietly, shame present in his rattled voice. He took a step toward Thomas, filling the security gap that separated them, he took Thomas' shoulder, staring deep into his son's face, and then, much to Thomas' surprise, the man hugged him.

It was not a rough, vacant embrace as those in the past, but a real one. With his Father's arms wrapped around his shoulders Thomas could feel his chest quiver as his Father cried on him. Slowly, Thomas lifted his hands and returned the embrace.

There they stood, without speaking a word. It was odd to feel the hand that once inflicted pain now comforting him. This was a strange place and this man, his father, was a stranger. This was to be the moment in which the bonds that had worn so thin would strengthen, and those hands that held Thomas so close, he would never have to fear again. As Mr. Bradford held his son for the first time in years, realizations overwhelmed him. He never thought that Thomas could ever act independently of himself; he was just this little boy who seemed far too inquisitive for his age, always asking questions. This little boy that had once seemed so innocent, so sensitive to the cold world around him had metamorphosed and Mr. Bradford had been too angry to see the process. Angry at the world; Angry at his life. Because of this, he looked over what was right before his eyes all along. He never imagined the day would arrive when Thomas, that same little boy, would have the ability to come to him and force him to see the man he had become.

The sun began to set over the west horizon. Petals from the Magnolia trees had begun to fall. It appeared it was raining soft violet flowers all across the Porter front lawn. Rachel stepped off the porch, leaned for a moment to straighten her panty hose, then stood erect, conscious enough to notice the otherworldly effect.

With silken, dark curls spiraling over her shoulders, and her face a gentle pale like the softest ivory, she appeared heavenly. The diminishing sun, with its menagerie of deep orange color and newly formed shadows, offered her the remains of its light. She stood in white on this evening, in a dress hemmed just above her knee. Black, iridescent netting cascaded down her arms, gleaming with hundreds of intricately placed silver beads. After securing the backing of her tiny hoop earring, she placed her small purse over her shoulder and started off down the walkway. Upon turning the corner, she saw Corey approaching from down the sidewalk. She admired his attire for a moment, the fitted black blazer with a sharp white collar, his black slacks making it seem as if his legs were longer than they actually were, and his auburn hair falling gracefully over his back, except for the few shorter layers that framed his face. Her first impression was that he could have walked right out of a 1940's film, more like Veronica Lake or Joan Crawford instead of Clark Gable or Humphrey Bogart. Corey was the picture of sophistication and elegance, beautiful not handsome. "To pretty," she thought for a moment, "A boy to pretty."

Rachel smiled and he waved as they grew closer. Corey spread out his arms and spun as the colored petals swirled around him. "Can you believe this? It's like a wonderland!" He sang as he continued toward her.

"If I miss anything, it will be Sadie in the fall!" Rachel yelled in response. They had still not reached each other.

"You look great," Corey called.

Rachel tossed back her freshly cut locks and offered a dramatic smile, batting her eyelashes, "It's the new me!" She informed, making light of the visible difference in her appearance. Her hair had been cut from its normal length to just below her shoulders, and was highlighted in places. It made her look older, not so girlish. In fact, the girl was gone. She held out her hand toward Corey.

As he met her, he took it and she spun around, allowing him to assess the change. "Wow, look at you, the caterpillar has finally become the butterfly," Corey said as she stopped, still smiling proudly.

"My wings aren't so bad after all, huh?" She asked playfully.

Corey tilted his head pleased, "They are the most beautiful I have ever seen." Simultaneously, they wound their arms, locking them at the elbow, and began down the street. Rachel took a breath of the fresh air and looked up at the clear sky through the canopy above. Soon the stars would shine. She felt thankful, almost gifted to be able to see the sights that befell her eyes. There's always something beyond what we see, beyond the breaking leaves of the canopy, beyond the stars. No matter how far you go, there's always something else waiting for you. This was true. Her life before last summer had been lived beneath a cardboard box, dark, stale, and monotonous. Months ago, she never dreamed that this was who she would become, that this transformation was possible. She thanked Corey for that. He had shown her the true vastness of possibility. To look beyond what we see with our eyes and move past it with the anticipation of knowing that what lays there, in places beyond our sight, will change us forever.

She glanced at Corey, he had no idea of what he done, and she loved that about him. She placed her head on his shoulder. "I missed you," She said quietly, just above a whisper.

"I missed you too," Corey replied.

"I feel like I've been on a roller coaster the past few weeks. My Dad didn't contest the divorce. My mom gets everything. The house, the car, everything she deserves," Rachel informed happily.

Corey watched their feet walk in rhythm, "Good. Good." He answered, half hypnotized by their collective footwork.

"What are you thinking about?" Rachel asked curiously.

"God."

She looked at him surprised. "God?"

He sighed heavily, "God, life... fate."

"Tell me."

Corey watched the shadows from the branches above dance far out into the street, "I once heard someone say that life is just a series of events and emotions, we are simply reactive machines designed to accommodate those situations and adapt. I think an atheist said it. You know, one of those people who don't believe in anything, not God, not souls, or purpose. They sort of drift through life without any real reason. That would be so sad... frightening. I don't know if the circumstances in life are predestined or just chance, but I think it's what we do with those instances. It's what we walk away with, what we learn that makes us who we are. I believe in Jesus... Actually, I don't know if I believe in Jesus. I don't know if he was ever a man who walked the Earth, I wasn't there to witness the miracles the bible talks about, but I believe in something. I have faith that there is a higher plain of existence. I believe in a divine creator, I just don't know who he is. There are people who believe in God, some believe in Buddha, some worship the Earth and pray to several different deities. I respect all religions, I don't try to debunk them, but I wonder if, just maybe, the one thing we all worship isn't one in the same. When push comes to shove, we all want to be happy; we all want to live with the feeling of some purpose."

Rachel remained against him, listening carefully to his words, "I don't know much about religion. I consider myself a Christian but I don't get to deep into it. There's so much information and so many conflicts I tend to believe that there's a sort of bliss in ignorance. One group believes one thing, another group believes something else. What am I supposed to do with all that information? I find it defeating to try and sift through all the trivialities, like my friend, she's not allowed to wear dresses, or even be alone with a man. I think she's an independent Baptist or something, but it sounds silly. Don't get me wrong, I believe in God, but I kind of edit what seems outdated and live my life according to the times. I think I'm a good person. I care about people. It makes me feel good to do something for someone else. I don't steal, or murder. I consider myself a moral human being and I think that's what God wants me to be. If I were to put myself up on some soap box and start damning others for not living my lifestyle, it would be completely hypocritical. It's funny because I remember being younger and I went to church with Gabe. His Dad was preaching, and he was saying how God never makes mistakes, how he created each and every one of us to be individuals. That way we can learn from each other. Every face is a new story, and we learn something new from each one. Then I hear these other preachers saying that certain other religions are hell bound because they're false, or that gay people are bad and God hates them. Well, if God never makes mistakes, none of these things would exist. You would not be here, so therefore, who's right? You pretty much have to form a personal relationship with God and discern what's right and wrong according to you. When it comes right down to it, the Bible is just a running commentary, translated over and over a hundred times, with a little added here, someone's personal belief no doubt. A little taken away there. It's a collection of different views from different people under the guise of God's name. Today it's up to us to weed the truth from the imposed demand. Besides, what's the sudden interest in religion anyway? You feeling guilty for something?"

"No," Corey stated quietly, "I've already been through the stage where I beat myself up with the bible. I'm beyond that now. I talked to Thomas earlier."

Rachel perked up, grinning, her voice raising a pitch, almost accusingly, "Really? I always knew there was something there. And you said you didn't have anything to be guilty for. I could always tell you liked him, Corey. No matter how hard you try to conceal your emotions, every time Thomas comes up, you end up glowing like the Statue of Liberty's torch. Even when you and Chris started going out, I could still tell that there was just something about Thomas that captivated you. Did you have an affair?"

Corey drew back and gave her a sarcastic glare, "That's ridiculous, Rachel. How can I have an affair? It's not like I'm married to Chris. Thomas and I are just... I don't know what we are anymore. Come to think of it, I don't know what me and Chris are either. We've sort of drifted."

Rachel watched his expression intensely, staring so hard that it almost made Corey uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and exhaled, "Me and Gabe have gone separate directions. I'm in no way as enamored as I used to be. He's been coming around a lot more, but it's come to the point now where I simply don't care if he comes around or not." She shrugged, then her face fell apologetically, "Gosh, that sounds awful! But it's true. I'm to preoccupied with my own life to worry about him like I used to. I've found that other things are just more important. I love him, don't misunderstand, I am just coming into my own and that requires all of my attention. I think at one time I loved him too much. Too much for my own good."

"Well, I care about Chris. But I care about Thomas. Chris came around at a time when I really needed him, and I'm grateful. Thomas just sort of floated into my life, and I have feelings for him, I won't lie, but the way he reacts to my efforts and some of the things he says just throws me completely off. I am so confused. Confusion has been such a big part of my life, confusion about relationships, about religion and God. In the scheme of things, one thing always conflicts another. After I spoke with Thomas I began thinking about the communication system. How we can all speak the same language, saying virtually the same thing, but in different words. How fear can make us discredit all possibilities. Fear of misinterpretation, fear of truth. We don't even entertain the notion, not because we don't believe, but because we're afraid of what lies there, of what we'll find if we step out on that limb and leap with blind faith. Will we fall flat on our face, as I have done may times, literally? Or, will some divine hand hold us up, allowing us to fly? It relates to so many things. My relationship with God, and with Thomas."

The analogy rang true. A universal thought. Rachel smiled at him, "Love can hold you up. That's what makes you fly. God is love, love is God. If you love and trust God, trust that he loves you; he will not let you fall. As far as Thomas goes, do you think he'll let you fall?"

They came to a slow stop, turning to each other. Corey stared, almost helplessly into her sparkling eyes, "I don't know," he admitted in a gentle, broken voice."

Rachel crossed her arms and thought for a moment, pondering his previous words. "What was it you said a few seconds ago? 'Fear makes us discredit all possibilities. We don't even entertain the notion because we're afraid of what lies there, afraid of the truth.' You're afraid of falling Corey, but if you don't ever jump, you'll never know if you can fly."

It created a ripple in his level of consciousness. The fog seemed to lift from his mind. She was right. He wanted Thomas to hold him up. He wanted to fly.

Corey smiled modestly, "Thank you," he whispered.

She held his arm tighter as they began to walk again, "And if you fall, I'll be there to catch you." She promised, her voice offering the reverence she felt. To the naked eye, the way they appeared, both delicate, yet amazingly strong, anyone could see how well they complimented one another. They could have easily been born from the same womb. Two pieces of a puzzle blended seamlessly. They loved each other. Friends in a world where friends, real friends, were to far and few. They didn't need to say anything more. They knew how lucky they were. They knew that what they possessed in each other was precious and never would they take it for granted. The impending separation was on both of their minds, but they took solace in knowing that nothing, not distance or time would take this away. It was an entity all its own. To say so would simply be reiterating what the other already knew. It was psychic, blessed.

Night had descended on the sleepy village of Sadie. As usual, all was quiet, though if one stood out on their front porch, one could hear the muffled thumping of the music that seemed to radiate through the air. No one would complain though, everyone knew that this was the last gathering of the Lincoln High School Seniors. It was an annual event, one expected and tolerated by even the most prudish citizens. From Cherry Street, a few blocks away from the school, the bright glow of the towering floodlights on the football field could be seen just below the tree line. It was a familiar sight, most generally on the Friday nights when there was a game. The crowds cheering in the stands, the echoing voice of the announcer, the whistles, it was all part of the life of Sadie. The chaos had never bothered anyone, most likely because all of the residents of the surrounding neighborhoods were the ones at the games screaming like mad. The sport was a fixture of the town, one regarded as something nearly sacred, but on this particular evening, though the field was alive with light, no crowds could be heard cheering.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and the dance was just beginning. It was the one event at the stadium where everyone wasn't welcome. Someone jokingly said the adult citizens harbored slight animosity. It was outrageous. To think that grown adults would want to infiltrate a High School dance to paint their body's school colors and scream like savages. Nevertheless, they never tried to crash the party. The stage had been constructed of thin scaffold. Two huge speakers sat stacked high on each side, framing the disc jockey that stood hidden behind a sound board. Round tables draped with gold clothes were adorned with vases of purple Irises, and a large space had been left open before the stage for those who chose to dance. Colored filters covering strobe lights on the top of the stage threw distinct flashes of red, blue and green across the field. Students dressed in their formal wear crowded the area. The buffet table on the sideline stretched all the way to the fifty yard line.

Gabe stood against the cement wall guarding the bleachers carefully surveying each face. He didn't want to be here, but he knew he would be missed. He was expected to be here. For him, it was like wandering around on the front line of a war zone. Rachel and Corey's eyes were the bullets, and they would most likely be seeking him out. Gabe knew they would be together. For a fast second, he almost laughed. His girlfriend and his boyfriend... together. It was like the plot of some over-dramatized daytime soap opera. Whoever said truth was stranger than fiction had absolutely no idea. He felt it odd that, with his nerves on edge, he noticed every little detail. Tina Metzger wore a pin on her left lapel that looked like a shrunken head. Vincent Carroll had gotten his head shaved, apparently because he had joined the Military- something most of the underprivileged kids did when they couldn't afford college. Sandra Hakes had accidentally left the right sleeve of her dress unbuttoned. Small things magnified a thousand times. He wondered if he could hear even the most hushed conversations if it weren't for the loud music. What would he learn about them? What were their secrets? Surely they all had something to hide. Maybe that bulge in Tiffany Reichert's tummy wasn't simply evidence of too much summer celebrating. How many people had to hide like Gabe was? He could be out there on the floor socializing like everyone else. It wasn't as if he would have a hard time finding someone to talk to him. He chose this position. Tucked away out of arms length, an expression clearly stating that he was unapproachable. Vacant eyes showing no interest in any moot conversation one might propose. This was his stand, and no one compromised his boundaries. He had to know where everyone was, and who they were with. Every time a new face appeared underneath the rose covered arch entering the field, he met them with a cold glance, then turned away. Why was he doing this to himself? He didn't want to be this way. This was his last time upon this field. This was his field. Gabe owned this field. It was here that he threw his first touchdown. It was here that thousands of people from near and far cheered him on. This was the place where his future began, the first points were scored, the first record was broken. This was Gabe's turf. If he belonged anywhere, he belonged here. So, why should he let Rachel and Corey make him hide away like an escaped convict... again, he rested on the realization that he had put himself here. A choice. Not one consciously made, but a circumstantial life position. If he truly didn't want to run the substantial risk of being caught, he would've stayed home. If Corey and Rachel really were the living end, he wouldn't be here. Maybe that was it. Maybe he wanted to be exposed, maybe he wanted the truth to come out, and maybe he wanted it to be all over with. After all, he seemed to be losing both of them anyway. Procrastination. All procrastination.

Suddenly Gabe felt a jolt on his right shoulder. Startled, he quickly turned and met the redheaded reporter face on. Demon woman.

"Hi Gabe!" Sophie bounced as she stood, leaning down over the cement wall from the bleachers above. With her trusty clip board and that wicked smile on her face.

"H-H-Hi," Gabe stammered, beside himself with nervousness. A fake smile grew across his face.

Sophie laid her clipboard on the wall, "I've been looking all over for you. Figured I'd have a better view of the crowd if I stood up in the bleachers, but I got up here and now I can't find my way back down. I get turned all around. Terrible with directions. I was never good with geography. Couldn't tell you North from South. Never could remember which direction the sun sets in. My mom used to tell me to use the sun so I knew the direction I was headed. She used a poem, 'Bringing the morning's feast, the sun rises in the East, leaving the evening to rest, it sets in the West.' That's probably not right. Who knows?"

Gabe didn't reply, he just stared at her in a confused state. He had no idea where the sun set. He bit his lip lightly, his head repeating his one recurrent thought. PLEASE GO AWAY.

Sophie noticed his awkward reservation. She filled her cheeks with air and then quickly released it. "I thought that I might get one last interview considering you'll be gone soon. I figure it'd be a privilege to say I was the last reporter to interview Gabe Cavanaugh before he was GABE CAVANAUGH! I mean, given the fact that in no time you'll only be talking to the likes of Larry King, or even Barbara Walters!" Sophie sighed audibly, her head sinking into her shoulders, "I love Barbara Walters. She's my idol. From the time I was a little girl I knew I wanted to be just like her. You know, she started out as a simple journalist too! I carry a picture of her in my wallet for inspiration. She motivates me. Sometimes, when I'm interviewing someone, I pretend to be Barbara. I sit with my legs crossed and my hands folded in my lap just like her. I tilt my head when I'm talking about something meaningful, talk in a soft voice like I care so much about what they're saying. I've written her letters and even sent her my picture, but she hasn't gotten back to me yet. I told her that I thought we was kindred spirits. One time, when I was twelve, on Halloween I went as Barbara. Had the little curly brown wig and everything, cause at that time she had brown hair, you see. Now it's getting a little grey. Can you help me down?"

With that, Sophie hopped up onto the edge of the wall and swung her legs over the side, making sure to keep her legs pressed firmly together as not to let her short skirt offer the crowd a free show. "I just know if I try to find my way out of here I'll end up searching for an hour. Best if I just take the quick way down." She planted her navy blue high heel firmly on Gabe's left shoulder.

Obviously he was not prepared as he nearly buckled under the weight. He reached up and took her leg as she positioned her other foot on his right shoulder. He staggered sideways as she came down, sitting on his head, then easing back while little squeaks escaped her mouth. She reached back and grabbed her clipboard from the wall, and nearly fell. She barely caught her balance, jerking forward, slamming the board into Gabe's head.

"Ouch!" He said as he attempted to maintain his composure with the woman perched on him like a bird on a wire.

"Sorry!" She apologized.

"Ow-Ow, let go of my hair!" Gabe demanded as Sophie clung to him like a leech, looking down at the ground below her, desperately afraid of falling.

"My skirt is riding up!" She yelped as she tightened her thighs around his neck. Her bright pink underwear peeked out from the back as her skirt slowly curled upward. She reached around Gabe, grabbing his face in a claw-like grip and turned in distress as she tried to pull it down with her free hand.

They spun in circles, looking as if they were on the losing end of a chicken fight. Gabe tilted back and forth as he tried to see through her fingers.

"Get off!" he begged, his arms wrapped around her flailing legs.

"Move your hand!" Just then, with a loud bellow, Sophie tipped backward, hanging upside down against his legs. "OH NO! Don't let go! Hold on! I'll fall on my head!" She pushed her blouse down so it wouldn't flip over her face. Her hair drug the ground. "Have ya got me?"

Gabe blew a few stray strands of his hair out of his eyes, "Put your arms on the ground and flip off backwards," he suggested impatiently.

"I have to hold down my shirt! I'm a Christian woman!" She barked back.

"I'm letting go!" Gabe warned.

"No! This is a new outfit! If it gets a stain I can't return it!"

"Why not?" He asked.

"It was a blue light special!" She snapped.

Gabe pushed his eyes up into his head in disbelief, "I'm letting go!"

"Wait! Just wait a second. I realize this is an awkward position, okay. But if I put my hands on the ground, people will see my breasts and not many people have seen my breasts. I am a respectable journalist, damn it! I don't want to be on T.V. ten years from now and have a bunch of people staring at me, a bunch of people who have seen my boobs. I have to protect my future," She negotiated. "Put yourself in my position!"

"People are staring. I'm letting you go!" Gabe replied through his clenched teeth as he smiled at a young couple who walked by him. Just then, somewhere in the crowd, a voice found its way to his ears. A word, barely above the sound level of the rest of the crowd, but it was a familiar word. A name. Rachel.

Instinctively his eyes began the search, through closely huddled faces nestled into their cliques, over shoulders, above heads. Then he saw her. Suddenly overwhelmed, like he was in the middle of a two way street and there were speeding cars coming from both directions, he panicked. Nowhere to run. He dropped the reporter woman. "Ahhhh!" THUMP was all he heard from behind him.

He didn't turn to check her; he had already forgotten she was there. He watched Rachel laughing, the way she seemed brighter than any light the stage had to offer. She was her own stage. So dazzling was she that he could not blink, he could not feel himself breathe. No sound that found him was acknowledged, nor was any other face. It was her. A her like never before. The way the crowd appeared to separate just so he could see her there, standing. It was like he was seeing her for the very first time and falling in love all over again. Passing images collected from some unknown time surfaced in his memory. That feeling. A feeling only portrayed in some Hollywood movie. The first time Romeo sees Juliet. The first kiss. All played out on a grand scale. He had kissed Rachel before, held her close, even made love to her, but he could not fathom that this creature was the same Rachel. His Rachel. Had she always been this beautiful? Suddenly Sophie popped up behind him, brushing herself off, reassuring him even though he did not care, "I'm okay! I'm okay! No harm done," She squawked.

He turned to her fast, "We can't talk here!" He informed bluntly.

Sophie slung him a dismissive wave of her hand, "Oh, don't worry. Things like this happen all the time to me. I'm not embarrassed. Nothing showed that shouldn't have. Momma can still be proud of me," she joked.

Gabe grabbed her arms and began pulling her toward the closest exit. Sophie followed clumsily behind, trying to keep up, "Okay! If you want, but I better stay close to the entrance. I already can't remember where I parked my car, but If I get to far away I won't even get back to the parking lot on my own. I don't want to have to call the police again. I'm sure they have better things to do than help me find my car. That's happened to me before. I go to some big shopping mall where the rows have numbers. One time I had to wait for everyone else to leave before I could find my car. That was really embarrassing," She rambled as he continued dragging her away.

Then, all of a sudden, as if the winds of death befell him, he halted in his tracks. Corey was walking right toward him. Had he seen him? "What are we stopping for, gotta cramp?"

Gabe turned to her, scanned his surroundings with great precision, and then pulled Sophie to the ground, "Come on. Hurry!" He commanded as he lifted up the tablecloth of the buffet table and crawled underneath, forcing Sophie under.

Beneath the table, Sophie studied Gabe's paranoid face. "Was this what you had in mind?" She asked seriously.

Gabe looked at her shocked, "I bet Barbara Walters has never given an interview from underneath a buffet table."

Sophie's eyeballs ventured to the corner of her eyes, her lips pursed, "No, I bet not either. You mind if I be frank?" She asked curiously.

Gabe watched the dress shoes of all those who passed, "I don't care."

Sophie situated her knees beneath her, "What are you running from?"

Gabe shot her a threatened stare.

"I mean, honestly this what not what I expected when I came here tonight. You should be out there with everyone else soaking up all the attention. You're a star around here. This is your last dance in Sadie. You of all people shouldn't have any reasons to hide," She noted in a sincere tone of voice, one that almost convinced him she cared. She was a lot like Barbara.

"I'm not hiding," Gabe defended.

"Right. Please Gabe, I might be a little confused sometimes, but I am not dumb. I know what's going on here," Sophie admitted slyly.

Gabe forced a gulp of air into his stomach and eyed her. Oh my God. She couldn't know! Yes she could. She was an evil witch woman with freakish supernatural powers and a big mouth. He could deny it! He would.

The corners of Sophie's mouth turned upward, "You want me, don't you."

"Huh?" Gabe responded, as if all of his brain cells had fallen numb.

Sophie batted her mascara soaked eyelashes and held her hand to her chest, taking the small button of her blouse between her fingertips, undoing it, "I knew it. I just knew it. No man can withstand the power of my womanhood. I've had many men try to be intimate with me, but I was always waiting for the right one. From the very first moment I saw you, I knew it was you. I am uncharted territory Gabe, and I'm about to let you go where no man has gone before." She leaned forward, her lips quivering in an utterly comical manner... "Touch me in my secret places." "Huh?"

Unexpectedly, Sophie threw herself on top of him, "Take me Gabe! Conquer me!"

Corey moved toward his table where Angie waited. He sat down a meager plate of vegetables in front of him and plopped down. He stared at them with apparent disinterest. He wasn't hungry, the trip to the buffet table was just something to do so he wouldn't sit there like a bump on a log, stationary. While Rachel was up socializing with all those she had known since kindergarten, Angie and Corey remained on the outside of the crowd. It was where they preferred to be.

"You bored?" Angie asked in a voice, alluding to the fact that she was too.

"Yeah," Corey replied.

"You know, I did a little bit of digging a few days ago. You know that movie you obsess about?"

"I do not obsess."

Angie leaned in, "I can't remember the-"

"Meet Me In St. Louis."

"Right," she conceded with a grin. "I went to the music store and found the CD on the rack. Out of curiosity I bought it." She conveniently left out the fact that she bought it for the song he sang to her that one evening, just so she would never forget that moment, that kiss.

"Really?" Corey replied.

"I took it home and listened to it from beginning to end. I asked around and a lot of the people remember the numbers. Isn't that ironic?" Angie said, clearly leading up to something.

Corey popped a piece of cauliflower into his mouth, "Yeah, that's strange. I guess the youth of Sadie have their redeeming qualities after all."

Angie leaned back again, glancing up at the disc jockey on the stage, "Abbey Grazer played the Judy Garland role. Unfortunately she got some weird disease and now she has to use this funky little mechanical contraption just to speak."

Corey raised his eyebrows and stopped chewing, "That's awful."

"Tragedy," Angie added, "Now there's no Judy. She was the only one who knew the words. No more Judy."

Corey wiped his fingers on a napkin excitedly, "I'm Judy! There's only one Judy after the original! One! That would be me. It may sound far to gay, but it's true. I know all the words, all the dialogue, her life in that movie parallels my life in the real world except I'm not a female in the early 1900's and there have been very few happy endings," he expressed passionately.

Angie nodded modestly in agreement, "You know all the words to the Trolley Song?" She queried. "That's my favorite."

Corey nearly leapt from his seat, "THAT'S MINE TOO! I love that song. Clang, Clang, Clang went the trolley. Ding, Ding, Ding, went the bell. I know it be heart."

"Good," Angie chirped smiling, "Look what I brought."

She reached into her wallet sized purse and pulled out the CD. "It'll be fun to have one last great performance."

She stood up and began walking away.

Corey immediately followed. "Angie, what are you doing? Where are you going?" He pressed nervously.

Angie kept walking toward the stage, "I'm going to the have the disc jockey play the song. I told everyone we might do it, they all want to participate. It'll be nostalgic."

Corey scrambled for words, "Participate in what. What am I missing?"

They reached the stairs leading up to the stage. Angie turned to him, "Most remember the routine, and they just need a Judy."

"NO! No! Angie, don't. Please. I can't do that. I'll die of embarrassment. Do you want me to die?" Corey pleaded.

Angie spun, continuing up the steps, speaking over her shoulder, "Put on those ruby slippers, Judy, the party's about to begin."

Corey stood numb. He quickly rushed through the crowd back toward the table. He couldn't do something like that in front of all these people. Only Drag Queens did public performances. He was anything but a drag queen. He found himself walking faster than he realized as he moved toward the table.

And then, all the spotlights found him. Instantaneously he stopped, turning toward the blinding lights coming from all directions. This had to be some evil practical joke. He was certain of it. He squinted as he watched Angie step up to the microphone on the stage.

"Okay people!" Angie announced, her voice echoing through the field like the voice of God, "A lot of you already know the plan. For those of you who don't, we're doing the The Trolley Song from the play 'Meet Me In Saint Louis.' Corey Evans will be our Judy. It's a slightly different take but who cares, it's the millennium! Let's go out with a bang!"

The crowd hollered and cheered. Corey looked around at the countless faces staring at him, expecting him to do something, say something, say anything, yet he didn't. Then, the music began. The students around him gathered in rows like country line dancers hurrying to their places as if this had been intricately rehearsed. Corey spun his hands together nervously. He would positively make a jackass out of himself. He always did. He felt a hand on his back and turned to see Rachel smiling at him. She gave him a thumbs-up.

The students sang the introduction in a collective voice, a bell ringing in the background from somewhere he couldn't see. They paraded around him, creating a great circle. Corey couldn't help but smile. It was like something out of one of his fantasies. They all looked like jackasses too, so what did he care if he did. With their right arms stretched toward him, Corey began.

-"With my high starched collar and my high top shoes, and my hair piled high up on my head. I went to lose a jolly hour on the trolley and lost my heart instead!"

With wide eyes and even wider smiled, they all bounced to the infectious beat. He looked into their faces as he let the moment overcome him. He was Judy.

The students moved around him closely, all holding their directed poses as Corey fell into the crowd dramatically and they caught him, pushing him back to his feet. When the chorus once again arrived, they marched around him, making him the centerpiece of their production. Each face was a show all its own. Wherever he walked, the spotlight followed. The students locked arms and stepped in unison, simulating a moving train.

They reiterated the lyrics in a collaboration of altos and sopranos. The girls sang their parts together and then the boys sang theirs. Corey howled at the top of his lungs, and the finish was nothing less than award worthy. It was more than just a routine, but an explosion of fanatical energy. Corey laughed to himself as the applause around him grew louder. It was electric. Thousands of purple and gold helium filled balloons drifted out from under the stage and lifted high into the air. It was philosophic act. One balloon for every student, being set free. All was silent suddenly as every eye turned toward the sky.

Rachel and Angie appeared at his side. It was real now. Like the balloons disappearing one by one, so would they. Pushing higher and higher, all knowing that this was the direction they were headed from the beginning, but where would the winds take them? One thing was certain; they all knew that after Sadie, none of them would ever be the same. The world was a big place, with more possibilities than anyone could comprehend. A new life awaited them, way up there, somewhere in the darkness. A life they could not see until they got there. Each day a new direction, each moment a result of the last. Emancipation. Good things would happen. Bad things too. They would laugh with new friends, accept new challenges, and somehow manage to fill the voids left by the others. It would seem that each of them, as they stood now, holding hands, smiling, watching the last balloon vanish amidst the stars, this would soon be a memory, and like all the memories one created while on the journey of life, it fades. It may never disappear, but with the nagging of time and the inevitable collection of new memories, it would eventually fade into the backdrop of their minds, joining the endless tapestry known only as the past.

Sophie sobbed quietly. Her mascara had smudged across the side of her face. Her smeared lipstick gave her chin a chapped appearance, "I'm such an idiot. How could I be so stupid? I should've known, I just should've known."

Gabe offered her a sympathetic glare from the opposite end of the long table of which they sat under, "I'm sorry. I guess I just didn't make myself clear."

"It's not you who should be sorry. I should be sorry. I just couldn't get the hint. I mean, the smart girl would have stopped right after you said 'Get off me you psycho bitch,' but I just thought you were into that, you know?" She wept again, "You're the son of a preacher man! You're supposed to be sexually perverted because of your repressed upbringing."

Gabe snickered, "Says who?" He asked.

Sophie sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "Cosmopolitan Magazine..." She giggled as she said it, realizing how silly it sounded. "Guess I better switch to Reader's Digest, huh?"

Gabe laughed.

"When I said that many men have tried to, you know, be with me in that way... I was lying. I'm almost Twenty-eight years old and I've never been hit on by a man. Isn't that sad? When I was a younger, I was horribly ugly. An ogre."

Gabe shook his head, "I don't believe that."

Sophie nodded, "It's true. I didn't have any friends at all. Not one. The boys in school used to beat me up. They would hit me and push me around, call me names. In seventh grade my Mother pulled me out of school and taught me at home. I graduated early from some mail order school out of Illinois. After that, I was afraid to go out into the world. I was afraid everyone wanted to hurt me. I shut myself in my room for three years... I never even left my house. Doctors called it chronic agoraphobia. I put blankets up over my windows to block out the sunlight, and the walls of that room became my home. I started writing all these stories about all the famous people I wanted to meet. I would sit at my mirror and give fake interviews, asking the questions out loud, pretending they were answering me in my head. I knew I wanted to be something," She sighed quietly, her shoulders lifting, then falling, "Anyway... you don't want to hear about my boring life, I shouldn't do this."

Gabe leaned forward, "No, please... go ahead," he urged her onward as he rested his elbows on his knees, sitting Indian style.

Sophie cleared her throat and ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, "Well, the psychiatrists put me on all these antidepressants and expected my life to just get better. It was a matter of living half of my life feeling like everyone hated me, and I grew to hate myself. I thought it was right. It had been instilled in my brain. I was ugly, stupid, and a waste of time. To love myself would have just been a simple courtesy with no meaning. Like how when someone gets a really bad haircut and you tell them it looks great anyway. When your life is in pieces, you kind of split yourself into two different people. One of them is actually who you are, and the other is someone on the outside looking in, someone witnessing the pain, but not suffering from it. A normal person. The normal person hated me for suffering. She hated me for becoming what I had become. It's pretty bad when your own alter ego thinks you're pathetic. Then one day, I woke up. I pulled myself out of bed, and I suddenly knew that if I remained this way, I would die and never have anything to show for my life. The only thing standing in my way was myself. I had no one to blame for my sadness anymore. I couldn't point fingers. So, I picked up the telephone, called every newspaper in Connecticut and asked if they could use a freelance journalist. Somebody said yes. That gave me a reason to let the sunlight in again... And here I am." With her hands in her lap, she picked at a dangling press-on nail.

Gabe surveyed her, the way the cloth draping from each side of the table filtered the light, casting a hundred tiny dots onto her glistening face.

Sophie looked up, as if noticing the same glow, "Who I am, and who I want to be are two different things, but I've already come a long way by not being who I was. I still have a lot to learn, and I know now that a supermarket rag is not the place to get a social education." She noted in jest of herself, lowering her voice mockingly. Then, once again, after a moment of silence, her voice returned to its normal state, "One thing I have learned though, If we're not truly happy with ourselves, or the place we're at, we're the only ones who have the power to make the change. If we keep praying that someone else will come along and do it for us, we're relying on false hope, and in the long run, that can be our greatest enemy. Hope lies in the knowing of our own capabilities, in our own power and will. That's what gives us hope in the first place. It's just matter of finding it."

Gabe pulled his knees up to his chest, "This is not who I want to be," he admitted. Despite all attempts to censor himself, he felt that whatever he said would be taken, and respected by this woman. She didn't know him well, but to an extent, he found comfort in that. There was no way she could judge him. "I'm supposed to go off an be this big football hero to. It began as an extracurricular activity and it grew into an expectation. It's not fun when you start to feel like you're letting people down if you miss a pass, or fumble the ball. My life has become everyone else's extracurricular activity. I just want to be free. I want to do what I want and not what I'm told. But, after all this time, I don't know what else I can do. Maybe I can't do anything else. My life has taken all these twists and turns and I'm trying to hold on to what I've always known to be true, all the people that I love, and people just keep changing... I feel like everyone is moving on but me." He paused for a second, adjusting his class ring so that his Garnet birth stone faced outwards, "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not who anyone thinks I am anymore. I have this girl that I've grown up with. She's everything a guy could want. She's smart and pretty, sensitive and funny. She's the girl that everyone thought I would marry. I thought so too. I love her so much that to try and explain it would be diminishing the beauty of it. I wouldn't have been saying this six months ago because up until recently I have just started realizing who she really is. I know that she cares about me, but for the longest time it seemed she was a fixture in the life I was supposed to lead... an answer to a question I hadn't asked yet and I think I resented her for that. Then one day I was sitting in my room, cursing the monotony of it all, and I looked out my window and it was all dark... except there was this one light on from the house across the street. I looked inside and what I saw..." He felt his emotions rising into his eyes and tried to squelch them, "I saw this boy. This beautiful boy... crying. I watched him for a while and I kept wondering, 'Why is he so sad?' I found out who he was and, I don't know what made me do it, curiosity, sympathy, whatever, but I called him. I didn't tell him my real name, but as we talked, as I listened to that voice, I fell in love with him. He is so unlike anyone I've ever met before and I found myself wanting... no, not wanting, but needing him in my life. Needing to hear that voice, needing to have him close to me. He gives me something that no one else can, he gives me unconditional love... that's something I've always heard of, always wanted, but never had. He never expected anything from me, he just wanted me for who I was, and now, even tonight, the guy he thinks I am, I'm not... I never even told him my real name. My life over the past few months has been a series of lies and close calls. He and my girlfriend are best friends, so if I ever let them see me while they were together I would lose them both and end up with nothing. It makes me sound bad, sometimes I even hate myself for lying to them, but I keep telling myself that it's for my own good, for their own good. If I told either one of them, it would hurt them and I never wanted to do that. That's why I'm hiding. They're both here tonight, together. I'm here because I'm expected to be. I'm the high school role model, the guy all mothers want their daughters to marry and all fathers want their sons to be like. The preacher's son." Gabe rolled his eyes, annoyed by the thought.

Sophie didn't run screaming and laughing as Gabe had expected. She remained still and focused. She pushed up her glasses that slid down the bridge of her nose, "It would be unfair of me to offer advice since I'm not very experienced in the love department. I used to have this joke that went 'If love is a department store, then I work in lay-away.' But, all joking aside, I can see why you love them, and I can even see why they love you. My mantra is this saying I read all the time, not in a magazine, but in a book. 'If you love yourself, you've already won the fight, but if you're fighting for others to love you, then you've lost the war.' Being proud of who you are is more important than having someone else be proud of you, whether it for be your decisions or your lifestyle or your career. Life is a method; the only thing you can do to get through is to just breathe. It's not about who you love, but how you love them. We all love in different ways. We love our family, we love our friends, we love our pets we love our lover. The best thing about loving someone is loving them in a way like you love no other- loving them in a way like they'll never be loved by anyone else. If you truly love both of those people, then keep loving them, but don't make them a victim of it, because what we inflict on one today lingers far into the future. In effect, when someone is betrayed by another, violated by another, it stays with them, they remember, and it's not so easy to trust again. Don't make someone you love want to shut out the sunlight like I did. The darkness doesn't have much to offer." Their eyes held each other with such deep appreciation that the words spoken would remain imprinted indelibly on their souls. A silent thank you. Sophie picked up the clipboard at her side and started to crawl out from under the table.

Gabe reached for her, taking her arm, pulling her back, "What about the interview?" He asked.

Sophie smiled, "I've intruded on your life enough over the past five years. If you decide to be a big football star, just promise that you'll think of me before Barbara."

Gabe wrapped his fingers around her hand; she returned the grasp a bit more firmly. The sentiment lasted several seconds, then she was gone, and his first realization was that he may never see her again. A friend even so. No matter if their paths never crossed, he would always think of her as friend.

Corey gave Rachel a brief hug, "I'm gonna get going," he explained briefly as he pecked her on the cheek. She could smell the slight lingering of his fragrance, maybe it was his shampoo. The humid air laid on them like a wet blanket. Corey's hair was thicker than usual, the natural waves had kinked into loose spiral curls.

Rachel held onto his hand defiantly, "You can't go already! It's still early," she argued, looking genuinely disappointed.

Corey shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "I have work to do! I'm putting together a new book and I've been slacking off all summer. I want to get it finished before I leave for San Francisco on Thursday. I'll call you tomorrow."

Just then, Angie came up behind Rachel, grabbing her shoulders playfully. Rachel spun, then immediately turned back to Corey, "You better not forget to call me, Corey!" She warned, as if there would be some hellish price to pay.

Angie stepped from behind Rachel to her side giving Corey a grave look, "You aren't leaving, are you?"

Corey stepped forward and embraced her, "Thanks for the dance. I'll never forget it. You made my night," he said thankfully.

Angie stepped out of his arms smiling, "We all have to get together before we leave, the three of us."

"We will," Corey assured as he walked backwards, "Come over if you have time," he said to them just before turning and being eclipsed by the crowd.

Rachel stood on her tiptoes to see if she could still see him. Though she could not, she found a need to say something, just in case their plans didn't manifest. "I love you, Corey!" There was no reply. Even if there was, she wouldn't have heard it above the chaos.

As Corey walked off the off the field he could feel the wet grass slip and squeak beneath the soles of his dress shoes. Dew had begun to set. As he hit the parking lot, he saw the pavement looked moist. The air was cooling considerably and thick clouds of steam billowed eerily off the cement reaching upward toward the lamp lights above. He figured that by morning a solid fog would have rolled in, maybe it would rain. It smelled like rain. The oncoming weather always offered a warning, the old familiar smell that Corey had grown so accustomed to.

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, Corey hadn't really noticed the emptiness of the parking lot. No people. He walked along the wall of the school, past the dumpster on the far side of the lot. A stiff cold breeze blew against him and he wrapped his arms around his narrow frame to shelter himself it, but it had already died.

KLANG! A noise clattered in the darkness behind him in the shadows at the side of the school. He turned fast, his heart skipping a beat. He surveyed the blackness before him. He stood completely still, "Hello?" He called cautiously. He pushed his thick hair back from his face and glanced around all directions. Was there someone else around? No. Not a soul.

Unsettled, he took a step backward, then turned again, moving ahead. A tuned jumbled through his mind, one he couldn't remember all the words to, or even remember hearing before, but the melody stuck with him. It repeated over and over, the same verse, most likely because he didn't know the rest. Just then, he heard a shuffle behind him. As he prepared to turn, he was stopped mid-spin, a hand thrown violently over his mouth.

He was being dragged into the darkness. He grabbed at the fingers, but the grip was powerful, much more so than he. It had to be a joke. Someone thought this was funny. But it hurt. It hurt badly, short nails digging into the flesh of his cheek.

Finally, he was released and pushed forcefully against the wall of the high school. He saw he was behind the garbage bin, hidden from plain view. Three figures loomed around him, their faces drawn and pale. He didn't recognize any of them. They were ominous forms, not precise in detail, which made each one of them more frightening. His attacker stood in front of him as the other two hovered behind, like vultures waiting for their leader to make a kill so they could feast. "Must be my lucky day... just who I was waiting for." His attacker said, his voice was thick, and smelled of fresh cigarette smoke.

Corey, doing his very best to remain calm, measured his breathing so his fear would not be sensed. "What do you want?" He forced. Immediately after he realized what a stupid question it was. He knew what they wanted. He could tell they had a vicious intention, and he was determined to get out of this.

"I just wanted to have a word with you. The local faggot... seems you got to everyone. Everyone just loves you, faggot. They all smile when you walk by... they don't know.... they just don't know." The boy seemed to be spouting gibberish, and Corey suspected that he was drunk or high on his poison of choice. However, the word stung. Such an ugly word. Faggot. He knew he had to remove himself from this element, for it was explosive. "I don't even know you."

"I know you," the vulture retorted immediately, leaning forward, coming within an inch of his face, invading him. "I see you flaunting yourself all around this town like you don't have any mother fucking shame."

Corey pressed his back against the wall until he could feel the waves of coolness from the brick move through his shirt against his skin. "Oh God," he thought to himself, "This isn't happening." His eyes darted around, looking into the faces of the other two succumb by the shadows around them. He was looking for a passer-by, perhaps someone going to their car. Anyone. He felt himself begin to tremble, and when he spoke his voice cracked, as if he were going to cry.

"Please just leave me alone."

"Why?"

"I- I didn't do anything to you. Just let me go home."

"First you've got to pay the fine. You broke the law." The kid said in a morbidly playful tone, as he lit another cigarette. "We don't like your kind here... you don't belong here. No Niggers and especially, no ass fucking faggots. Right guys?" He called over his shoulder to his friends, who responded only with quiet laughter.

There was only one word that flooded Corey's immediate thoughts. Why? Why?

Suddenly, his attacker whipped up his hand and took Corey's throat into a suffocating grip, slamming his head against the brick. He blew a mouthful of smoke into his face. "You like it when I touch you?" The kid asked, his voice slithering from his lips like a serpent, foul and evil. Again, he came close to Corey's face with his own, and saw the tear the rolled off his eyelash. "I know you like it." He whispered, "You are one sick Son of a Bitch, you know that, faggot? I bet you wanna touch me. You want to feel my dick, don't you? Maybe you even want me to fuck you right here. You want me to rape you like a little fucking girl."

Corey struggled for breath, but his grip was like a vice, ever tightening. He could barely hear his word for the pounding of his own heart. "S-Stop" He struggled as he wept, but only a strangled noise escaped.

"I'm sending you where you belong, Corey. Straight to hell." With that, he sent a massive blow to the side of Corey's face, one with such power that it sent him crashing to the ground.

The pain was searing and moved from his face through his head. He could think of nothing at all for a moment, and lost the presence of mind enough to move, until the kicking began, and then it was too late. It was somewhere between random screams and laughter that each crippling blast was delivered, first to his back, then as he writhed around in a vein attempt to escape their beating, his stomach. Soon he lost the ability to move, and all he could do was lay there, praying with every power her had that each impact would be the last. And he cried quietly, mostly inside as the energy to weep had been taken from him. Now it was mostly instinct.

Then, he felt an immense weight upon his chest as his attacker sat upon him, taking his face into his hand, forcing his eyes to meet him. "Look at me you fucking freak! LOOK AT ME!" He screamed in an almost primal manner, which came from nowhere human, simply pure hate, where he didn't care who heard. "Tell me you're a faggot. I want to hear you say it." The boy demanded, his breathing labored, his voice strained and violently trepid. He spit upon him. "DO IT FAGGOT!"

Corey wept below him, not so much from the merciless pain, but the question that had gone unanswered. Why? He could not focus, nor completely comprehend what this villain was asking, and that frightened him even more because he had lost control. The boy screamed again! "TELL ME!" He screamed as he took Corey's hair into his fists and began beating his head against the pavement, "SAY IT! SAY IT! SAY IT!" Out of breathe, exhausted, the boy stopped, he saw blood spilling out across the pavement from Corey's head. Yet Corey was still awake, pinned down by his weight. Their eyes met for a simple moment, and in that, Corey mustered what little strength he had and said one word.

"Why?"

And it was then the final impact was delivered as one of the other thugs kicked him across the face, just as the other stood off of him. The most intense pain shot through his temple and for a moment he thought his eyes would explode. He felt darkness growing in around him as he tried so very desperately to stay conscious. He couldn't let go, and yet the urge to sleep, to die even, was overpowering him. The only sense he had left was that of the sound around him- Their voices, now contemplating setting him on fire and watching him burn, then footsteps, and then the oddest exchange.

"What the Fuck..." He heard his attacker scream, as if taken by sudden shock. This was followed by a series of screams and an obvious scuffle. Something was happening. Though the severity of his agony was excruciating, Corey knew this was his last chance to get away. He had not the power to stand because his legs had gone numb. He managed to get to his hands and knees, and began to crawl toward what light he could see through his distorted vision. He had to make it into the light. "God, please don't let me die. Please don't take me away from my father," he though, and the words echoed like a skipping record through his mind as the sounds behind him quieted. "They're coming." He instantly thought... "Keep going. Just go." He pressed himself on, suffering with each movement his knees and arms made as he pulled himself into the light, "Please let it be over. Please let it be over." And then he collapsed, his arms gave way beneath him and he hit the pavement. "Dad.... help me. Somebody please God... somebody." And then blood filled his eyes, turning what little his sight beheld, dark red.

Now he was completely still, and with his breath he spoke... "Somebody."

Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and hurriedly, as if driven, he turned, and began to flail his arms around in hopes of keeping his attacker at bay, "NO." he cried. "No, No, NO!" and then upon blinking, his vision cleared for a moment, and he saw.... Thomas- standing above him, in a white tuxedo.

"It's me Corey. I've got you." Instantly a soothing calm befell the battered and bloodied Corey, as Thomas lifted him into his arms and began to carry him toward the road. Thomas knew the wounds were bad, and he could see Corey fighting to stay conscious, he spoke to him, anxiously, demandingly, "You stay with me Corey. Don't go to sleep, you have to stay with me. You're going to be okay. I'm here with you. Don't go away from me." Thomas pleaded, as he stared downward into Corey's swollen and bruised face.

For a split second, Corey opened his eyes and looked up at Thomas, and even found the ability to smile... He swallowed hard as he met Thomas eyes with his own, "You came..." he whispered. And before Thomas could reply, Corey fell unconscious, and his limbs, once around Thomas' neck, now fell limp. He was gone.

"SOMEBODY HELP US!" Thomas screamed with all his might, from a desperate place deep inside where all is at stake. Cars sped past, never bothering to even glance his way. "PLEASE! STOP!" He hollered at each one as it flew by. Finally he walked into the middle of the road, and stared at the approaching car, daring it, willing it to stop... and it did.

Lola Collier opened her car door and stepped out. "Dear God..." She said to Thomas, who was now crying, both from anger, and helplessness.

He kept his eyes fixed on Corey's face as he trembled. He spoke quietly to the old woman, "You have to help us," was all he said.

Lola pulled out her cellular phone and dialed 911. She gave them her location, the grabbed a blanket from her backseat and spread it across the ground where Thomas laid Corey upon it.

He lay beside him. "Don't leave me...." He spoke through jagged breaths. Corey was unresponsive.

Angie stood at the buffet table picking at some of the vegetables that remained on the silver platter. She turned to the dance floor and gazed at Rachel who had become the belle of the ball. The boys nearly fought to dance with her. She seemed more radiant than ever before, and completely unaware of the enchanting beauty that left everyone else spellbound. Perhaps it was happiness. She seemed so free, so liberated. A quality that Angie had noticed growing in her since her Mother had filed for divorce... since her distance from Gabe. She seemed to be evolving.

She grabbed another piece of Celery. Damn diet. The cheesecake looked so good. She was just a bit more than stunned to see Gabe come from beneath the tablecloth and stand firmly at her side.

Her shoulders fell and she smacked her tongue against the room of her mouth in disgust. "You have got to be kidding," she seethed as her lips tensed and her eyes became slits. The Death Stare.

But it quickly changed; he looked as though he had been crying, so it made it a little more difficult to be scathing.

There was an unsteadiness to him, one she noted immediately.

"You're hiding... You don't have to hide anymore. Corey already left."

At first he said nothing, and his expression did not change as she expected it to. There was no relief there.

His eyes were fixed to the floor as he watched the reflecting lights dance upon it.

She turned toward him fully, unconsciously tilting her head as she studied him; His cheeks were flushed, his breathing shallow.

"I can't do this... anymore." He said weakly.

Angie stared at him and took a slow, impulsive step toward him. She knew this had been destroying him inside. She knew he had brought it all on himself, and the price he was paying was a heavy one.

Gabe's eyes lifted and found Rachel who, encompassed in the lights from above, engulfed by the crowd, was blissfully unaware of the happenings that would certainly affected her.

Angie followed his gaze and then looked back to Gabe, "Now's not the time. Just wait," She advised quietly, her demeanor in direct conflict with that which she so eagerly proposed before.

"How did I get here." His quiet voice shook. "I don't hurt people...."

Angie felt her last bit of animosity squander, "I know. I know."

Gabe took a slow step sideways. He hovered for a moment. He felt an overwhelming need to turn to Angie, to thank her for being the one thing left in his life that had been willing to remain. Would she care? No... Probably not. Then, with his hands tucked against his chest, he walked toward the exit and as he moved he didn't see anyone or anything. The sights that graced his vision were fleeting, irrelevant images that quickly passed by. He felt the drafts of bodies in motion as they swooped past him but never saw their faces. Occasionally he smelled a distant perfume but didn't bother to see the skin it moistened. Voices spoke as he passed. "Hey, Gabe! Don't forget me when you're famous!" Someone called. He didn't stop to see who.

"Good luck at School Gabe!"

"Congratulations, Gabe!"

"We love you! Gabe!"

The faceless comments overlapped in his ears, melding into some audible anomaly that he didn't care to decipher.

As new students came in and left randomly, the opening door invited a gentle breeze that almost dried his stinging eyes. It crossed his mind for a moment that if he just kept walking, he would never have to stop. One he was on the other side of that door, he did not ever have to turn back. A fantasy at best.

As he reached the doors he lifted his arm to brace himself against them and his attention was drawn upward. Red and blue lights scattered and merged like a kaleidoscope across the grass. Kids stood in small circles gawking at the show in the street. "An ambulance?" He wondered. Just then, a kid whose name he could not recall ran past him, waving his hands in the air.

Gabe turned and watched him draw the attention from the party. The music screeched to a halt. He was winded as he spoke, "You've gotta come and see this! Corey Evens is dead!" He ran back through the doors, pushing past Gabe as others anxiously followed.

Gabe couldn't think. No. It was impossible. Gasps rippled through the crowd filing past him like herds of wild beasts toward water during a dry season. Gabe held his breath, his muscles tightened. His heart began to race...

And he began to run. No matter how fast he ran it wasn't fast enough. He thrust people out of his way as his feet pounded against the wet grass. "No. No.! Please no!" He silently pleaded.

He reached the dense crowd that had flooded the street side. He shouldered his way through, desperate to see. Finally he reached the curbside. There were three paramedics surrounding someone lying on a blanket in the street. Gabe couldn't tell, he couldn't see his face. Pure fear made him weep; he struggled to keep from shaking. Finally, one of the paramedics knelt to the victim's side, still shielding him from view.

It was then, beyond the bustling paramedics, that Gabe saw Thomas standing stone faced as they worked below him. Thomas could see his face now. It was Corey. A spasm knotted in his stomach. He burst onto the street yelling, "Corey? Corey! Is he dead?"

A female Police Officer materialized out of nowhere. She held his arms, "Sir! Sir! Calm down. You'll have to move back!" She demanded aggressively.

Gabe persisted, "He's with me, I know him!" He fought to free himself from her restraining hands. He hollered toward the men working around Corey, "Is he dead?"

The officer attempted to pull him aside toward her patrol car. "They're going to help him. You have to stay back."

"I need to be with him. He wants me with him!" He bellowed. Gabe stared in horror as they transferred Corey's body to a padded stretcher. His tiny arm fell limp over the side, an intravenous needle shoved into his narrow vein.

Thomas stepped up beside him as they raised the stretcher into the air. He took Corey's hand and said something that Gabe could not hear. Infuriated, Gabe felt an explosion of power. He broke away from the officer and ran to Corey's side, pushing Thomas back from him, moving into his place. "I need to go with him. I need to be here. He can't go alone!" Gabe explained as he took Corey's hand, the hand that Thomas held.

Thomas stood back and watched. He couldn't fight to be by Corey's side. It would be wrong to fight with Gabe over who went with him. Why did Gabe care anyway? Thomas stood consumed by the millions of emotions that ravaged him. A certain rage swelled deep within. He wanted to scream. He tightened his fists as if he would. Then he turned from the scene and he ran away.

Rachel and Angie rushed out onto the street. Their faces were pale and drawn with smoldering intensity. The paramedics were lifting someone they couldn't see into the back of the ambulance. A CB radio rattled in the background. Then, Rachel saw Gabe emerge from the back and pull the doors closed, shutting himself inside.

Rachel hurried to the door, grabbing the handle, trying to pull it open. It was locked. She thrust her body against it. "Gabe? Open the door! Wait for me! Please!" She begged.

Gabe caught a glimpse of her through the tinted glass. His eyes penetrated hers. "What are you doing? Is it him? Is it Corey? Gabe? What's happening?" She wailed in utter despair, her words unsteady, her hands against the cold aluminum of the ambulance body.

Gabe turned away from her. The siren started and the ambulance began moving.

She followed helplessly. "Gabe! Wait! Stop! Gabe!" Before she knew it, she was running, trying to keep up with the speeding vehicle. The wind lashed her tear ridden face. Her feet against the street sent shockwaves through her entire body, knocking each breath outward in sharp increments. The deafening sound of the siren rose above her. She moved as fast as she could, but the ambulance only grew farther away, like a rising tide kept pulling her back, preventing her from reaching shore. Still, she pressed on, sobbing heavily, drowning in the darkness she had been left to suffer in. "GABE!" She called, knowing he could not hear her. Her legs hurt as she pushed herself forward, determined to somehow reach him. She stumbled forward, her ankle twisting under her. She fell hard to the ground, the callous pavement slid against her, tearing at her dress and the side of her face. Her arms cushioned her head as it bounced off her sleeve. She lay completely still for a moment, absorbing the sudden impact. She looked up as the lights disappeared over the distant hill. Her chin quivered, her eyes burned. She tried to catch her breath but failed. At the first opportunity, once able to draw enough oxygen, enough strength, she screamed one last time, "GABE!" Her voice shattered the night as it trailed through the neighborhood, the echo of her plea scattering in every direction until it faded.
PART TWO

thirteen

Everything After

Thomas tore through the park, breaking through the calm currents of breeze that the evening so serenely offered. Once in the shadows of the pine trees, he felt the crushing of fallen twigs and cones through the thin soles of his shoes. The light from the street lamp on the other side offered a bit of consolation. It urged him to move faster. He bounded over a dense thicket of weeds, having lost the dirt path. He landed on the sidewalk.

Harrington Street was quiet, though, had there been sound, he would not have heard. The blood pounding through his veins pulsated in his ears. A constant beat that his feet moved in sync with. He easily scaled the uprising of earth on Corey's lawn, using his arms, clutching the grass to aid him. On his feet again, he ran up the cement steps onto the wooden porch. He hit the door hard with his fist. His knuckles immediately reddened, but he hit it again, more anxiously. His knees buckled, locking him into position. The sound of the rattling doorknob roused him even more. A torrent of necessity made him push it open. Timothy Evans stood before him, his eyebrows furrowing gravely with instinctive concern. In the background, Thomas saw Carol Porter staring at him. He held his side and spoke but one word. "Corey."

The frigid, empty atmosphere of the Sadie Memorial waiting room oozed an uninviting aura. Had Thomas a choice, this room would be avoided at all costs even if simply because of the numbness that so readily presented itself here. The walls were naked and thin, no windows, little light. Primitive style chairs sat in a square along the perimeter of the room, with two round tables in each corner. The white tile floor became a nuisance after a short time, for every time he moved in his seat or took the smallest step, a continuous shrieking insisted on accompanying him. A noise - just for the sake of having it. It did provide a flicker of distraction, and refused the formal quietness that could drive an otherwise sane man lunatic. The air stank of sanitation agents with a base of rubbing alcohol. Thomas closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. Images of Corey, somewhere under this very roof, held solid. He recalled the sound of him. Words, phrases that he so passionately relayed in his own delicate way. Certain places in time he had kept on the forefront of his memory. They rang through him, vibrating his consciousness, dulling his awareness of the dismal surroundings. He returned to those moments, reliving them. He went back to their meeting in his bedroom. The conversation, at least a fraction of it, replied to his silent beckoning with immense clarity.

Thomas heard his own voice; "I have this intuition. It helps me know who's good and who's not. You're good."

"How do you know your intuition isn't wrong?" He remembered Corey saying, his tone rising teasingly.

"You make me smile... not a lot of things make me do that anymore."

Corey's subsequent expression, shy grin, downward glance, made Thomas smile even now. Thinking back on all the conversations they had shared over the previous summer, the most prevalent ones surfacing now, were those he most regretted. The times he was cruel. The times he behaved as if he was indifferent, as if he didn't care. He regressed again;

"Did you talk to your Father?" Corey had asked as he perched on the bench beside Thomas.

"No."

"Oh." The disappointment in his voice was more obvious to Thomas now than it had been before. "You just sounded so passionate about telling him. I thought you would have."

"What for? It would be pointless to tell him. I will someday, when I find someone I want to make a part of my life, until then I see no reason."

"I see... I- I thought you said that I inspired you?" Corey said, reminding him of a previous conversation.

"I said someone inspired me. I never said it was you." What a vile reply. How could he have been so openly spiteful? How could he have lied so convincingly? Thomas' scorching jealousy caused him to misrepresent his more relevant feelings, tainting the purity of his love for Corey. He opened his eyes and leaned forward. He felt a rush of self-hatred. What if Corey died tonight? It was a devastating notion, but the fact remained, if Corey left this world, he would never know the extent of Thomas' love. Thomas could never apologize for having been so uncaring, so ruthless with his denials, with his travesties. "God... Please don't take him away from me," he thought out loud. "I'm sorry, Corey. I'm so sorry," he said, his voice trepid. He buried his head in his hands, his back undulating with his gasping cries.

The feint sound of rubber soles on the floor of the hallway beyond the reception room brought his eyes upward, glaring at the doorway. He heard the muffled vice of a woman, he could barely make out her words. "We'll let you know as soon as the tests come back. You can wait in there." Anticipation welled in Thomas' stomach. Who was out there?

He watched as Gabe appeared in the doorway. They leered at one another through torrid eyes. Visible tension bloated the room. Gabe was the first to break the stare as he walked to the opposite side of the room and sat down. They each wanted to pretend the other wasn't there, but nothing could take away the resounding quietness that scolded them.

Gabe rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head in an attempt to avoid looking in Thomas' direction. It was the only way he could contain his swelling anger.

Thomas did exactly the opposite. He probed Gabe intensely. There were endless things he could have said, but, out of respect for the circumstance, he kept them to himself. The old Thomas, the easily agitated street kid was gone, but subtle resurgences occurred. The villainous side of Thomas, the one he so valiantly defeated, dared Gabe to speak, dared him to provoke a stir that Thomas would willing rise to challenge. Until then, though, he would repress his desire for vengeance. He recognized that this was neither the place, nor the time for them to verbalize their own conflicts. Thomas took pride in being above that. This was an undeniable testament to Thomas' own growth from the careless deliberate delinquent he had been. A definite contrast to the more studious, attentive individual he was now.

The transformation brought with it specific understandings of his past. Now able to look back through coherent eyes, it all fell into place. Thomas had been a kid with nothing to lose. Nothing he had offered loyalty or emotional solitude. He believed his Father hated him, his Mother deserted him, love in any form denounced him. What reason did he have to try? What value did his life carry? He thought none. And if no one else cared, if in fact he mattered so little, then he could act without guilt. Sure, had he chose to go on that way he would almost certainly have ended up in prison or dying an early death, but either fate interested him more than wandering aimlessly. Soulless. "What a sad boy that was," Thomas thought, sympathy welling as if it were for someone else, rather than himself. A time not so long ago, but seemingly worlds away. The ultimate change came on his own ability to recognize his direction, a path that was so smoothly laid, leading straight to his own impending demise. If asked, Thomas could not pinpoint an exact event or situation that initiated his sparking hope. Maybe God, maybe his own intuition, maybe he bumped his head. Whatever, it happened. And then Corey came along, motivating him to strive for the life he so dreamed of. Corey made him realize that it was possible. With time and effort, as well as an honest wanting, he could be whatever he imagined.

He would tell him this. He would come forth with all the things he longed to concede. No more evading the truth or foolishly denying the magnitude of his love. All this time... wasted. Now, here in this place of sickness and decay, staring into the gullet of possible loss, Thomas mourned all the instances passed where Corey was with him, able to hear him, able to reply. If given another chance he would rectify his wrongdoings. He swore to himself that if Corey lived, he would expound on the actual impact Corey had on his life. He would never lie to him again.

Odd how, in explicit moments of sheer devastation, we tend to examine the proportion of our history. Specific conversations, actions, anything we've archived as having meaning, we remember with amazing particulars. Perhaps an internal mechanism comes into effect, allowing one compensation in an otherwise maddening state. It is here where change takes place, decisions are made, forks in the life road present themselves. Rationalization comes with ease and we are compelled to view our present standings, exactly where we are, what position we have taken, how our existence has affected the lives of others, how theirs have affected us. The past shrivels and the future expands. We step into it newly educated.

Gabe and Thomas had little, if nothing, in common except for their despisal of the other. Unbeknownst to them both, their standard of thought ran parallel. Gabe had trouble sitting still. His nerves were going spastic. He had to move. He had to get out of this frame of mind. The element was suffocating him.

He decided to speak, just to alleviate the weight of the solid air. "I saw you talking to the cops. What did they say?" He asked, as if he were expected to.

Thomas glanced up at a browned water stain on the ceiling, "They asked me what happened. I told them," he replied vaguely. He wasn't about to share anymore information with him. It was none of his business. Thomas was convinced that Gabe's involvement in the incident was purely with the intention of self-promotion. A convenient, opportune time to exploit someone else's mishap and gain notoriety at Corey's expense. A way to maintain his popularity. Assure his name remained in the local papers.

Gabe cracked his knuckles one by one, cursing Thomas' vacant offerings. The joints popped loudly, amplified by the acoustics of the room. He jumped to his feet, linking his hand at the back of his neck. "I can't stand this. What's taking so long?"

Thomas didn't answer.

Gabe turned to him, "What happened back there? Tell me who did this." Gabe demanded aggressively.

Thomas closed his eyes, rolling them beneath his lids, expelling a distinguished breath through his thin lips, "Why? So you know exactly what to say in your next interview?" Thomas shook his head as he looked down at the controlled patterns in the floor tiles, "You must be getting pretty desperate for attention. I'm not going to let you use this to publicize yourself." The implication eroded his composure.

Gabe dropped his arms to his side, doing all he could to prevent a physical altercation, "You're pretty proud of yourself, aren't you? You think that you know me, Tom? Don't ever assume you know me. You know nothing. Nothing. Just because you did one good thing doesn't make you anything but what you are. You can get off your pedestal. You're not fooling anyone but yourself."

Thomas stood up, refusing to allow Gabe to look down upon him, a semantic gesture, "That's right Cavanaugh. I don't know you, don't believe I ever care to, but let's get one thing straight. You don't know me either. So, before you start throwing stones, make sure those aren't projections of yourself."

Gabe laughed condescendingly, "Forget it. I'm asking the wrong person. You don't even know what you're talking about."

Thomas held firm in his stance, "You're more diluted than I thought. I remember a time not that long ago that you almost broke your neck to inform me that Corey was gay, you wanted me to hate him, and you thought I would... You must've forgotten that night, Cavanaugh... Or is it a selective memory you suffer from?"

Gabe raised his arm, pointing his finger at Thomas as if it were a gun. He rose his voice an octave, "I wanted you to stay away from him! That's what I wanted! He's not like you." He scowled unsparingly.

"Corey's not like anyone! But that doesn't mean you can take upon yourself the role of savior. He doesn't need saving. Save that for your Sunday school class." Thomas retaliated, sustaining an impenetrable hold on his rival with equally assuming eyes.

"Obviously he needs saving from you. This might have never happened in you had just left him alone. Funny how you seemed to be right there after he was attacked... where were you before? How do we know it wasn't a gang of your lowlife friends?" Gabe suggested coldly.

Thomas took a moment to assess the accusation. He turned away from Gabe and stepped back to his seat. Falling into it, he once again met Gabe's stare tenaciously, with arresting conviction. "Those stones you cast... So self-righteous. You're one to speak of lowlife friends, Gabe." He paused for a moment, his words still dangling mid-air, "Given the fact that the 'friends' who beat him were your own."

The affirmation stunted him. His only response was an incredulous expression baring observable disgrace. His body was constricted by a paralyzing heat, ushered by Thomas' revelation. A sudden, deliberate cough was heard, destroying the heightening of temperaments. Gabe and Thomas turned to the door simultaneously. Much to their amazement, there stood Lola Collier, clutching her purse to her abdomen. Though it was night, she had a pair of sunglasses sitting amidst the thick nest of red curls on her head. Her eyelids were decorated with bright blue shadow, lined in thick black pencil, her lips a tacky red. She wore a long iridescent cloak over her polyester pants suite. Several entangled strands of pearls and golden chains hung around her sagging neck. She smiled despite herself, having heard the argument. "Do either of you need a ride home?"

Their eyes grew so wide they could've fallen out of their heads. "NO!" They answered in unison, and then looked at each other through flaring eyes.

Thomas stood again, "On second thought," He was speaking to Gabe now, claiming the moment as his own, "It is a long way to walk home." His voice, low and unmistakably threatening, gripped Gabe by the throat, leaving him speechless. And then he was gone.

Corey layed motionless beneath the crisp sheets of his hospital bed. An oxygen tube had been strapped across his face, with two adjacent tubes positioned into his nostrils. His skin, pale as it was, appeared a ghostly white, plainly inconsistent with the dark black and purple welts that defaced his beauty. Wires spilled over the bedside, some attached to the tall monitor that registered every beat of his tired heart. Others led up to the metal pole that held his plastic bags of medication which were released at slow intervals into his open vein.

Timothy Evans sat closes beside his sleeping son. The regular beeping lulled him. The halogen bulb in the drop ceiling above hummed continuously. All sounds seemed to merge into one audible design, making themselves less of a nuisance. Timothy paid them no attention. He was with his child, holding his hand. He had not moved for three hours. The nurse had already come and gone, and would not return until the next hour. Timothy needed this time with Corey. He had been so negligent over the past few months. So busy with the reestablishment of his career that he completely disregarded any of Corey's issues. How could this happen? Why would anyone ever want to hurt him? The questions came in a rushing tirade competing only with wanton explanations.

With the crawling of time, his search for some justification slowed. His only concern was for his son's wellbeing. The police had called it a hate crime. The reference stung Timothy's ears like a scorpion. He had heard of it before, many times, but never in association with someone he knew. It seemed unimaginable, how someone could take upon themselves the unjustifiable act of hurting, sometimes killing another. Those terms had always been familiar to Timothy. Murderer. Rapist. Molester. Eventually, after encountering so many accounts of unlawful activity, he grew numb to their effects. He had heard it all. But now he understood the helpless devastation displayed on the victims and their families by someone who takes the role of an immoral God, passing violent, even fatal sentences. In works of fiction, the said victim always gets up and moves on, still with their loved ones, still retaining their hopes and dreams. They still get up in the morning and brush their hair, eat their breakfast. In reality, all to often, those brutalized never awake. Their voices silenced forever. Their families can never touch them again, never see them. Those left behind to remember the dead are burdened with a pain that can never be eased. Even with the eventual prosecution of the perpetrator, the dead cannot return. Everyday evil flourishes in our cities, in our streets, and good people, people who have something to offer, even if it's simple kindness, are taken away from us, robbed of their possibilities. A future stolen. Those people could have killed Corey. They WANTED to kill him and they tried. Though they failed, in Timothy's eyes, they were still murderers because that was their intent. Death is not redeemable. One can never be brought back.

Carol Porter crept quietly into the room. Stopping just beside Timothy, she handed him a cup of coffee and glanced into Corey's sunken face. "Has he woke up?" She whispered, careful not to disrupt the serenity of the room.

"No. They gave him strong medication. He should sleep through the night." Timothy lifted the lid off of his Styrofoam container and a cloud of steam lifted from the surface.

Carol moved over to the opposite side of the bed and sat in a rocking chair beside the dark window. "I called Rachel. She was pretty scared. I told her I'd be home in the morning."

Timothy took a small sip, then sat the cup upon a folding tray, "You don't have to stay Carol. The doctor said he would be okay."

"The tests came back?" Carol asked as she reached up and flipped off the overhead lamp, darkening the room significantly.

"He has a concussion," he paused, as if hearing this for the first time, "two fractured ribs and internal bruising. Luckily, they didn't find any bleeding. If they had kicked him one more time they probably would have broken his rib completely and it would've punctured his lung. They're just keeping him for observation. He'll go home tomorrow."

"Do you want me to go? I mean, I don't want to intrude, I just thought that you might not want to be alone," she stumbled over her words, trying not to appear assuming, "I thought you may want someone to talk to."

Timothy smiled at her, "I'd like you stay. I could use the company."

She returned his gesture with mutual admiration. She leaned backward, holding the arms of the chair gently. She had a distant glaze over her eyes as she thought out loud, "I remember when Rachel was a baby, she was so happy, always smiling. I always thought of myself as a good mother. I knew that if my baby ever needed me I would be here for her, through thick and thin. No matter how old she gets, she'll always be my little girl. It seems odd now, that baby that I cared for, that baby who needed me, depended on me to guide her, nurture her, love her, well, I find that I need her much more than she needs me. I learn things from Rachel. We've sort of reversed roles. I am proud of the woman she's turning out to be, because it's the woman I always wanted to be. I think I could still be..." She folded her hands in her lap and rocked softly back and forth.

Timothy glanced down at his son's hand that rested in the palm of his own. Corey's fingers were long and slender, his skin milky and warm. Like the hand of a porcelain doll, unmoving. Timothy's large rugged hand, worn, flaws evident of age, seemed to devour Corey's. That if he should hold that tiny, frail hand with any effort, it may crumble beneath the sheer weight, much like a fine glass. He looked at Corey's body swallowed up by the enormity of the bed. He had been here before, nearly eighteen years ago. It was December Thirteenth, 1982, Corey was an hour old. Having been born six weeks to early, his first welcome to this other world came from the transparent walls and warming light of an incubator. Timothy remained by his side for seven days straight, barely eating, sleeping only when Corey would. With his wrist propped upon the rubber rim of the porthole, it was then too, that he held that miniature hand so lovingly. In the depths of his mind, Timothy spoke to his newborn son, believing that somehow his innocence would allow words unspoken to be heard and understood. That their bond, so immense, would provide a channel for his prayer, transpiring telepathically. "I will give you the world. To say I love you would be understating the meaning. You are a part of me now. I thank you for blessing me with your life. Thank you for letting me be your father. I will never let you down."

He blinked hard, then once again. No matter how much he fought, his cries defeated his will. He bowed his head. "I promised to protect him. I promised. I should have paid more attention. I had no right to drag him here like this. If we had stayed in San Francisco this wouldn't have happened."

"Things like this happen everywhere, Tim. No matter where you went, no matter how far." Carol explained, knowing it was not what he wanted to hear, but fielding the reality with unrestrained compassion.

"I will not accept that my son can only find peace in death."

"Nobody's asking you to. Corey's a wonderful kid. He's got a bright future ahead of him. He's a leader, he can influence people, he can change their ways of thinking. All they have to do is meet him to know that there is so much more to him than that one thing."

Timothy tasted the salt of his own tear as it crept over his lip, "I don't know what I would have done if I had lost him."

Carol slid to the edge of the rocker, "You didn't lose him. He's still here. He's going to leave here tomorrow, he going to go home, and he's going to let this pass. Corey is a strong young man. He will not let this take away from who he is. He knows that if he were to let that happen it would be giving those boys who did this exactly what they wanted."

"What if it happens again? There are people out there, sick people who don't even know him, but want to take him away. They want to take my son away from me. He trusts- he trusts to easily. He wants to find the good in people. I cannot imagine what was going through his mind when they were beating him." His voice shook.

"Don't do this, don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to Corey. You just said that you will not accept that he can only find peace in death, but you speak like he would be better off if he had died. You have to trust him, he knows the ways of the world... he may not want to, he may pretend like this is a wonderful place to be, but in doing that, he is making it a wonderful place. He was happy. He'll need you to help him through this, to make his world a happy place to be again. Don't force him to live in fear." Carol smiled, "He'll be okay."

"I have to do something about this, Carol. I can't bear the thought of them getting a hold of someone else, battering them like-" He paused, wiping the forming sweat from his brow, then continued. "My son is lucky, perhaps the next child may not be so..." He caressed Corey's arm gently, his moment of confusion and anger ebbing.

"I'll be there to help you. I'll fight right alongside you, Tim. We can do this together," Carol promised as she lean back in the chair once more. She turned her head, her eyes looking up to the open window.

Timothy noticed the way the sweet embrace of moon captured her, graciously bestowing its shimmering elegance of heavenly light, outlining her graceful features in a frame of white luminance. Her hair draped over her left shoulder like a sheet of silk, glowing. He hadn't noticed another woman in such a long time. Not since his wife. In some ways, Carol reminded him of the woman; how she chose to be where she felt was she was needed, offering all she could to subdue his stress, even if just by bringing him coffee and sitting with him. For a moment he felt guilty, comparing her endearments with those of his wife's, but it soon dissipated when he realized that he wasn't weighing the two women against each other, but allowing a comparable emotion. A feeling that he believed would never, could never, find him again. Timothy loved his wife, he still loved her, and he would for the rest of time, but it was in this split second of wonder that he knew he could love another. That he hadn't let his ability to feel passion toward another woman die with her. How any man could take Carol's selfless affection for granted was unfathomable.

He made a faltering attempt to turn away, digress his thoughts, but he liked looking at her. Almost as if she were an apparition from a dream he once had, trying to unravel before him. As if sensing his eyes upon her, Carol met them. She tilted her head to one side curiously and grinned. "Are you okay?" She asked quietly.

"Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

"My wife was like you," he answered with an ounce of hesitation.

Carol didn't answer. She sat in content silence, aware that if he found it within himself, he would continue.

"At times when I was falling apart, she always kept her head. She could always clear the air and somehow make it a bit more bearable. She had this way about her... the way she would talk; she had this soothing voice... like you. She gave me hope. She died very suddenly... I believed that, to some extent, I had as well. There was never a last good-bye, never a final embrace or a parting glance. One day she was there, the next she was gone. I remember being at the hospital that night... It was raining outside, and although the room had no windows, I could hear it against the building. I stood beside her as she laid on the metal gurney in the morgue. My fist notion was to put something beneath her so she wouldn't catch a chill. It was only when I touched her skin... it was so cold... that I realized that what lay before my eyes was not by wife. She was gone. It was just an empty physical shell that needed shedding. I had little comprehension as to the void I would have inside me until I sat in our bedroom, on our bed, alone. I was angry for a long time. I had no closure to speak of. And so I grew into the habit of being without her. Months would pass before I stopped listening for her rustling beneath the sheets next to me. As my expectations left me, I found only reminders, evanescent moments where I actually believed I heard her voice, but it was only the sound of a woman passing in the street. I would smell a fragrance, or see a piece of jewelry I knew she would enjoy. Small things. Things I never had noticed before all became scathing representations of the woman who was gone from me forever. And yet she haunts me." His sentence faded with execution, into the solidarity of the room.

Carol admired his unwavering love for his departed. Any woman, to partake of that rapturous offering, would be eternally blessed, for that love provides the sanctity every human being hungers for. Real love. A tear crawled over her lash and splashed onto her hand, still warm. "Your wife," she stopped to gather her swelling emotions, "was a very lucky woman."

"I was the lucky one. A love like hers is rare." Carol used her bent finger to push away the wetness beneath her eye, "It gives me comfort... to know that such a love exists. The way you love her brings me this inner peace, like a joyous celebration for the emotion I always believed in, but never found. When I met my husband, I thought it was magic, you know. We met on New Year's Eve, we talked and we laughed. I remember him being so charming. When midnight came, we held hands and watched the fireworks. It's like I just knew that one day I would be his wife. It was to perfect... to perfect. I loved him the only way I knew how. The way I wanted to be loved. I guess it just wasn't enough. I tried to pretend he loved me as much, but he always made sure I never actually convinced myself. Even though I knew there were other women," she laughed breathlessly, "I ignorantly believed they were mere playthings, that had he not loved me, he wouldn't have married me. I kept faith, hoping and praying that one day he would see what he meant to me, and he would change. He never did. Here I am now, old and alone. I don't feel pity for myself, I am not stupid... I'm just a believer. I refused to give up my dream, and I made a valiant effort to find it, staying with him, searching through the wreckage of our marriage. I chose not to give up. More for myself than for him. I never asked him for anything, I just wanted to be loved. I wanted to feel loved, and know that he felt the love I gave in return. Knowing how your wife loved you, how you loved her, it's like a confirmation... now I know that all my hopes were not in vein. A love like that does exist. At least it did for someone," She lifted her thumb and began biting at the nail.

"You felt it... you gave some of that magic, so all of your hopes were not in vein. Your confirmation came years ago when you felt that love for him. He just didn't know what to do with it. He took it for granted. Any man who knows you like I have come to know you would never belittle that love."

"That's a nice thought... But at my age." She looked to the window once again, "Most of the men I know are married. They've already established their lives. So had I, but now I have to start all over again." She straightened her sleeve as if trying to lessen the true impact of her declaration.

"So, then you are giving up your dreams," Timothy stated cautiously.

Carol stiffened, "No. I'm just leery of putting my faith into another relationship and getting disappointed. I'm tired of chance." She said, actually sounding exhausted, as though the storms of life had taken all of her hope, and cast it on the winds.

Timothy held her in his sight, "You're afraid of loving again."

Carol seemed suddenly shaken by his comment.

Timothy continued, "You are. Just like me, I know! I know how it feels, Carol. I know that fear."

Carol leaned upright disagreeing, "No. No, Tim, it's not the same. Your wife died, she didn't decide to stop loving you. You're afraid that if you ever fall in love again you'll be betraying her... I'm afraid I'll be betraying myself. Your wife would want you to love again. She wouldn't want to deny you that."

Timothy grinned, "You're right. You are absolutely correct. She would want me to be happy. I want me to be happy again. But if I can overcome her death and love someone again, so can you. You should want that for yourself."

"I do. I'm not going to lie! But the likelihood of me finding a guy like you is slim!" Instantly Carol hushed. She shouldn't have said that. It was a superfluous statement that would only complicate their budding friendship.

Timothy sunk deeper into his chair, "Why would it have to be a guy like me? Why... can't I be the one?" He swallowed hard, an awkward discomfort writhed under his skin. He hadn't been in this position in years. He was definitely out of practice. Had he sounded infantile? Presumptuous? The shy side of him, long dormant, had once again surfaced. An obstacle that hindered his ability to keep her in his sight. "I'm sorry. That was wrong. I had no right to violate your space like that. I don't want you to think I have any ulterior motives, I'm just grateful that you're with me tonight. I didn't mean to offend you."

Carol couldn't remember the last time a man had shown an interest in her. It struck her as a bit unfamiliar, that feeling. She had stopped regarding herself as desirable years ago so this came as quite a shock. She had always thought Timothy to be a highly attractive man. Respectable and studious. His sensitivity and sincerity was seen through the love he expressed for his son, his deceased wife. Carol had always wanted that. "Say it again."

He watched her from over the bedside, "I don't know if I meant to say it out loud, but I meant it."

"Then why did you apologize."

"I was afraid it was an unwelcome comment. I didn't want you to interpret it as a matter of disrespect. I'm usually not that forward. I think it's just been a long night and I'm being very careless with my words. I didn't-"

"-I want you to be the one."

fourteen

The Death of Innocence

Rachel sat at her vanity. She examined her laceration on the left side of her face intensely. The uplifted skin around the scrape had already hardened. She wrapped a wet washcloth around her fingers and placed it upon her swollen cheekbone. The coldness worsened the aching that throbbed deep into her eye. She winced, reducing the pressure to a mere dabbing. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, now staring back at her. She looked haggard. Her hair was unruly, hanging like a dead sheep dog on her head. Her eyes were bright red and noticeably puffy. Her mascara had washed down her cheeks leaving blurred lines of charcoal. Her dress was torn beyond repair, ripped down from her shoulder, exposing the strap of her bra. The appall over her ragged appearance was not indelible. She quickly turned away, standing up from her chair unsettled. She ran her hand across her forehead over her hair. How could they do this to her? Leave her teetering on the balance of chaos and control. Her mother had just called from the hospital to let her know Corey would be okay. That he had been attacked by a gang of hoodlums. While relieved that Corey would pull through, the previous events of the evening ate at her. What was Gabe doing in the ambulance with Corey when he had so aggressively vanquished her proposal to meet him? Something very strange was going on. Something beyond her grasp.

Her phone screamed, startling her. She rushed across the room, jerking the receiver from its cradle. "Hello?" She greeted anxiously. She barely gave time for an answer before she repeated herself, this time, more impatiently. "HELLO?!"

"Hi," Angie retorted loudly in an attempt to appease her, "It's just me."

Rachel collapsed onto her bed exhausted, "God, Angie. I thought you were a prank call."

"I can't sleep. Have you heard anything?"

Rachel dreaded reiterating the facts again, "It was Corey. He's in the hospital. My Mom called me. She say's hell be okay. He has a couple of broken ribs and a concussion. He'll be home in the morning."

"What happened?" "He was jumped by some guys while he was leaving. Mom said it was because he was gay."

Angie let out a concerned breath, long and drawn, "Oh my God," she said gravely, her search for something to say unsuccessful.

Rachel sniffled, "Did you see Gabe at the dance?"

Angie didn't answer for a moment, she searched for the first reply that wasn't incriminating. Rachel was growing imaptient. She repeated herself again, more slowly and stiffly, "Did you see him?"

"Yes." Angie sighed, choosing her words explicitly, "I saw him."

"Something is not right here. He looked right at me, Angie. From the back of the ambulance... Gabe looked right in my eyes and then turned away." She could still see his expression in her mind. The frenzy of the moment returned with vengeance.

Angie was not responding. She had nothing to say. The silence hung heavy.

"ARE YOU THERE?" Rachel asked shaken.

"Yeah. I'm still here. I'm just really tired. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" Angie had to hang up. She could no longer be an ingredient in this formula. Her sympathy for Gabe did not obligate her to lie to her friend. She had already done enough of that. This was torment. She could hear the displacement in Rachel's voice, the sadness, the anxiety. She was in limbo.

Rachel didn't want to be alone. The serenity of the atmosphere rejected her, for she was, unwittingly, in direct opposition. She needed absolution, freeing from this unwanted ignorance. Someone had to fill in the uncountable gaps. For reasons she didn't quite understand, she felt she was losing control, that forces outside herself were working against here, and it frightened her.

"I'll call you later on, okay?" Angie added.

The disruption in her voice troubled Rachel. The actuality of her instance on disconnecting sent a trickle of suspicion through her, raising more questions. Did Angie know something she did not? Angie wouldn't keep anything from her. Rachel dismissed Angie's sudden tiredness as innocuous. It had been an exhausting night for everyone.

"Okay." Rachel managed despondently. And then she hung up.

The vanilla sent of Lola Collier's air freshener that dangled from her rear view mirror was overpowering. Thomas could taste it every time he breathed. The many ornaments adorning her key chain; More ornaments than keys; clanged together violently with even the slightest bump. "I thought I would come back to the hospital to see if the boy was okay. The nurse at the station told me that you had been waiting awhile," She explained, trying to make polite conversation. "Yeah," Thomas said. They hadn't been driving for very long, but he felt he had been in that seat forever. He kept his eyes to the window, looking for familiar landmarks, just in case he had to make a mad dash from the speeding car; And speed she did. She was going at least twenty miles above the residential neighborhood limit. Discreetly, Thomas slid his hand between the bucket seats and pulled the belt over his lap trying not to make his insecurities very apparent.

Lola reached down into her huge purse, her fingers scavenging through the rattling contents vigorously. Thomas found his fist tightening around the handle of the door, knuckles white. His attention was focused on her rummaging hand, his eyes, full of intensity, glued to it. Her behavior, while completely unmotivated, branded Thomas' mind with sinister impressions. Fear surged through his body like a thousand volts of electricity. She was searching for a knife, or maybe one of those high tech stunners used to immobilize her unsuspecting prey. Whatever weapon she pulled from that gaudy bag would be the one of his demise. It was prophetic. He could see it so clearly, as if suddenly given the gift of specific clairvoyance to compensate for his impending death. He knew. He knew she was going to kill him. Time seemed to slow down as she began to retract her hand from the purse. Sporadic visions, more fantasy than fact, derived from paranoia, filled his head.

He saw Lola wearing a wide rimmed, black hat that came up to a high point, scraping the roof. Her skin was tinted a pale green and hairy warts sprouted from her clay flesh. Her nose grew about four inches from her face, nostrils flaring. She whipped out a double barrel shot gun, releasing the steering wheel to grasp the long handle. Her foot wedged down upon the gas pedal. The car swerved violently, tires squealing. Insanity burned in her glassy, dilated pupils as she looked at him, a wide grin plastered across her wrinkled face, showing her teeth discolored. She cackled wickedly. Her voice was brittle and high pitched. "I'VE GOT YOU!" She rejoiced dramatically, bouncing up and down ecstatically like a hyper child. "I've had my eye on you for awhile Tommy Boy!" Her eyeballs ejected from their sockets toward him, then sprung back into her head. "You look like you've got a lot of flavor. I bet chicken. Maybe Turkey!" She prodded him with the gun. "Got a big pot that you'll fit nicely in." She tossed back her head laughing, then snapped it forward. It began to rotate on her shoulders. "I think I'll invite the neighbors over for dinner. Hate to have all that meat go to waste." She began sucking loose saliva through her teeth.

Lola pulled out a pack of long cigarettes and shook one loose, pulling it out with her lips, "You want a cigarette?" She asked, holding them toward him.

Thomas shook his head declining her offer. He was recovering from the terrifying episode he so creatively conjured. Lola dropped the pack into her purse and pushed in the lighter, holding it in for several seconds and then lit her cigarette. "Strange how such ugly things can happen on such a beautiful evening." Her cheeks sunk as she sucked on the butt of the cigarette, trying to get as much nicotine as she could. It expelled from her mouth as she spoke, "It's never one or the other. Life has a delicate balance, and it's thrown in our faces. With happiness there's sorrow, with pleasure there's always pain. With trust there's betrayal. One element contrasts another. Life and death. Sound and silence. You cannot enjoy one without suffering the inevitable consequence of it's counterpart. You learn that. It's knowledge that comes with age when you realize your youth is gone." She glanced Thomas' direction and saw he was listening earnestly. She smiled, "You know what you do in the meantime?"

Thomas hesitated for a moment. He had no idea why she felt so compelled to invest in him. "What?"

"Just dance."

Huh? Cuckoo, Cuckoo. She was completely off her rocker. A few sheets to the wind. Thomas pushed his eyes upward, making a noble attempt to understand. His expression, though hard as he may try, denoted his bewilderment. "You think I'm just a crazy old hag, don't you?"

"No! Not at all."

She took another drag off her cigarette, "Well, I am. According to most anyway. Everyone believes me to be aloof. I am simply more willing to accept the truths than others. I've lived a life that most only read about in story books. I've been through it all and I'm still here to tell about it. I'm to proud to keep my mouth shut so I say what I think. I'm too old to worry about being proper. I had cancer once, you know that?" She asked as if he should have.

"No."

"Sure did... one of the worst kinds too. Had it in my blood. Doctors gave six months to live... that was fifteen years ago. You know what the secret to life is?"

Thomas waited.

"Not conforming to certain death. I'm to God Damn stubborn to die. I refuse. I'll go when I'm good and ready. I won't allow any disease to or doctor to dictate my death. Never done anything else I was told. Why should I start? Look at my hands." She stretched out her arm. Thomas studied her presented hand. It was grotesquely disfigured. Her fingers pressed against each other, bent to the side. Her joints were swollen and lumpy.

"What happened?" Thomas inquired.

"Arthur Ritus happened. He's the harbinger of debilitation. Got him in my hands and in my feet. That son of a bitch." She looked at her own mutilated stubs as if seeing them for the first time, "They used to be so pretty. People used to say how pretty my hands were." She laid it against the steering wheel, disowning her burden, "But, as Edgar Allen Poe once said, 'Nevermore'." Thomas was ashamed of himself. To think that he feared this woman. She wasn't a killer. She couldn't even hold a weapon, much less utilize it. He felt guilty for being so judgmental. He knew better than to listen to flippant rumors, especially with him having been run through the rumor mill himself. He resigned himself to more considerate thinking. He folded his hands and watched his thumbs wrestle back and forth. "Thank you Ms. Collier... for bringing me home." He found it more difficult to look at her now than when he had been afraid of her. Perhaps because he suddenly felt undeserving of her kind deeds of which he so grossly misinterpreted as a diabolical plot.

They pulled into her driveway and she shut off the engine, collecting her purse, "Think nothing of it. It was my pleasure." She opened her car door and secured the lock.

Thomas stepped out of the car and followed suit, locking his door. He watched her walk up to the narrow sidewalk that led to her porch stairs. He took a small step backward, his hands deep in his pant pockets, then turned and began away. He heard her feet clunking up her wooden steps, then across her porch. As he reached the curb, he paused. He thought Corey would have liked her. He would have appreciated her opinionated conversation, her forward eccentricities. He did a full turn and began stepping back toward her porch, calling to her. "Ms. Collier?"

She barely glanced over her shoulder, still wrestling with her house key, "Yes, Dear?"

Thomas pushed the hair from his eyes, he leaned back on his feet on the balls of his heels and then planted them firmly on the ground again. He noticed her lawn was well overgrown, ravaged with thorny weeds that peeked through the cracks in her porch steps. After a bit of self prompting, he found his voice, "I want to thank you... for stopping I mean. If Corey would have been able to, he would have thanked you for stopping. No one else would."

Lola twisted at the waist to see him more clearly. She seemed surprised by this young man. He seemed like a tender little boy, shy and awkward, the way he stared downward, grinding his foot into a thick clump of grass. Almost sad. No, not exactly sad. Perhaps nervous. No. That wasn't it either. Lonely. Most likely, she deduced, it was a mixture of the three. "Would you like to escort me inside? I always hate walking into a dark home by myself." She said as she continued to watch him from above.

Thomas glared back at his house, darkened by the looming shadows of the great pines that sheltered it. His father must have been in bed by now. There were no lights on. He unintentionally caught sight of the moon and his eyes fixed on it. It was full and bright. It had been so long since he noticed the moon, and tonight, even to the naked eye, he could make out her bluish shapes, ancient craters, scars. Was it possible for a moon this majestic to go ignored? A sight such as this deserved to be seen, even if just once in a lifetime, for such unearthly magic could never be forgotten. A thin, wispy cloud was just getting ready to cross it's path, like a boat into a bay of light. He was looking at infinity... forever. Amazing how, in the time it takes to draw a single breath, you find yourself on the brink of the universe. And all of her secrets suddenly unveil themselves. Thomas knew that, in this place of no known boundaries, no visible limits, he was a solitary being that only existed only because something greater had allowed him to. Is this what Corey saw? Is this same force the one that brought them together in this tiny seaside village? In a place so vast that most are separated by immense oceans and mountain ranges, where hundreds, even thousands of miles keep us apart. Something had brought him here. Something was responsible for bringing this all together, everything to this very point. This moon, these thoughts, and Corey. Everything had a place, nothing was without reason. All Thomas was, all he had been, had brought him here to this new plain. His mother's abandonment. His Father's beatings. His decision to be a better man. And just when he needed him most, Corey waltzed into his life. This was the end to the first chapter in the book of Thomas. It was now he could put away all his childhood insecurities, his regretful past, and all the sadness that created him. His entire life was led by the belief that those were lessons of days to come, that living could only allow more torment. It was here that saw that they were not lessons of days to come, but of days gone by. The only true lesson was in what to leave behind and what to carry ahead, and the only worthy baggage was that of experience. He would lay them to rest here, on this spot where he stood in this unkept grass.

And so he did, freeing himself from all of that which held him captive. The shackles of sorrow, fear and confusion broke from his soul, and he let it go. So concluded his entry into a grown up world, a place where others do not make up who one is, for we already are. It's what we do with that which matters most. It was a graceful and accepted transition. And as his last story ended with Corey, Thomas would step into this new world with him at his side. Strengthened by all that has been, finding hope in all that will be. All of this in the time it takes to draw a breath.

Lola held her hand down to him for the taking, "Thomas?" She called. The gentleness in her voice a welcome invitation to this life which he now held as his own. "Shall we go inside?" Thomas slowly reached out to her, taking her crippled hand into his more virile one. She twisted the key in the lock, this time with more ease, and pushed open the door. She stepped into the black room beyond then issued him inward. He complied with her gesture and she closed the door behind them.

He stood in the foyer, his eyes unseeing of his surroundings. His ears deaf to any sound. His senses searched for appeasement, some release from this numbness. Just then, as if a demand obliged, his nose found the waving scents of dried lavender and peppermint candy. He imagined them in a bowl at the center of a grand oak table. The weight of the quiet suggested he was in a large, uncluttered room, high ceiling. His feet stood on an uncarpeted floor, and the sound of his shoes against it echoed from far walls, collaborating with the soft shuffling movements of Lola from behind.

And then... there was light. It cascaded around him from above like a waterfall, igniting like a swarm of fireflies all around him. Thousands of strands of dim, white, miniature christmas bulbs, draped from the towering walls. The lofty ceiling had been carved and painted with detailed impressions of Ancient Greece. Women with their long, lustrous hair flowing over their nude bodies, a faraway look on their pale faces. The men had been portrayed as mighty, with thick mustaches and beards that hung below the neck and exposed broad chests, rippled with muscle. Each figure had their arms reaching toward another, fingers touching. And from the union came a fountain of light pouring down in dangling streams, like a hanging garden of shining icicles.

Thomas stared at the vision directly above. They sparkled in his eyes and off the mirror finish of the newly waxed, white marble floor, encasing him in a lavish glow between the loose hanging wires above, and the sea of shimmering reflections below. He held up his hand and touched one of the burning bulbs that hovered just above his head.

Lola appeared at his side, taking pride in the light show she had displayed. She surveyed his expression of awe and took it as a silent compliment. "They remind me of a starlit sky. I had them fixed so they wouldn't shine very bright since there are so many of them. I don't need to light the whole neighborhood," she joked.

Thomas was still captured by the heavenly spectacle. He looked at the floor and admired how the deliberate architecture made it appear as if he were floating high above a city.

Lola walked over to a small bar in the corner and poured herself a glass of wine, "My husband always dreamed of being an astronaut. He knew the names of every star in every solar system. Of course, him being fifty pounds overweight and having his heart problems, it was all too far from his reach. Just a dream." She took a rapid swallow, downing the entire glass, keeping the bottle handy to refill. "Everywhere we lived, New York, Paris, London, Germany, in every house we had, the first thing he did was wax the floor and the find the tallest ladder to start hanging his stars. I used to despise it," She leaned against a high sitting swivel chair and rested her elbow beside her bottle of booze. She gazed up at the vibrant beauty, as if recalling something she kept sacred. "But now... They comfort me. They welcome me home." She turned away again, the alcohol summoning her, "Some people have a German Shepard; I have Christmas lights in the summer."

Thomas waited for her to laugh, but she did not. She took a gulp of her wine and smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, relishing the bittersweet taste. Since being introduced to the room, it was the first time he noted the more casual atmosphere. It seemed odd that everything was back against the walls. The red, velvet chaise lounge, a decrepit desk from the early nineteenth century, a window size mirror just above it. There were eight foot tall bookcases stuffed with ratted old novels from around the world in every language. Life sized statues of Grecian men and women stood like actual people, taken hostage from their time and frozen in their positions, their faces so real. Thomas did recognize one statue, that of a man with no arms, he couldn't remember where he had seen it before. His eyes continued to explore. There was no Television; no signs of modern day technology existed here. However, sitting alone in the corner, as if in exile for it unattractiveness, an old fashioned phonograph stood on a stone Greecian pillar. Though he stood directly in the center of the room, he was far from everything. A winding staircase led up from another corner to the upstairs. From where he stood, he could see the intricate figures of human forms chiseled into the banister that bowed inward as it went up to the open hallway above. Thomas had never see a place like this before. It had a museum-like quality. Everything looked well aged, neatly preserved in its time. She was collector of elegant objects. Obviously filthy rich. "How can one be so forthcoming with their excesses and not have a T.V.?" He wondered to himself, well aware that it sounded incredibly shallow and gave away the technological dependency of his generation. Just being amongst these pieces of history made him feel more cultured, and for a moment, the child in him pretended it was all common to him. He was a Prince visiting Lola Collier's kingdom, and this was an ordinary sight to the likes of royalty. Thomas restrained an embarrassed giggle and swept the fantasy from his mind.

A portrait on the far wall, just above the armless man, demanded Thomas' attention. It was faded and took on a yellowish tone, maybe because of the lights, but as he came closer, he found it to be a military man. A young man. He estimated his age at maybe Twenty or so when the photo was taken.

"Who's this?" Thomas inquired, tossing a backward glance at Lola, who was placing her cigarette in a long filter, holding it between her two deformed fingers.

After lighting it, she swayed over to Thomas, her sheer cloak coasting on waves of air. "That's my first husband Charles. We were married back in 1940. World War II was in full swing and he rushed off to save our country. Quite the nobleman, one would imagine. A good man... till he came home." She paused, visiting the deeds of a time long past, barely recalling a life that had scattered on the winds, bits and pieces. In reality, she remembered everything, yet the moments she tried hardest to forget imposed themselves most fervently. Her eyes closed halfway, like she was trying to ward off another unwanted memory, "He was never the same," she added, perhaps more freely than she'd like to have.

Lola puffed on her cigarette and didn't inhale. She blew it out into swirling cloud of smoke, a symbolic liberation from those ghosts. With that, she swooped around and marched over to the phonograph. "It's to quiet in here! I simply loathe a soundless room. Silence is reserved for those who are mute, or those six feet underground." She roared loudly, like some Grand Dame lodging a complaint to her servants.

Thomas enjoyed her flamboyant mannerisms; to an extent they amused him. The way she carried herself, so full of unreserved sophistication. He felt he could say anything to her and it would have no shock value, for she had heard it all, no doubt. "You say the man of the portrait, he's your first husband?" Thomas asked as he moved across the room to meet her beside the machine.

Lola didn't acknowledge him with her eyes, she was busy flipping through a stack of old records, "My very first marriage, but my second love. You always marry your second love. It's standard. The first love is always remembered as real thing. The rest of your life is spent trying to replicate that. I've been married seven times, and I wasn't in love with them all. Some might say I'm in competition with Elizabeth Taylor, but you're probably to young to know who she is." Thomas watched her pull out a tattered old folder, "I know who she is. She's a legend."

Lola lifted her eyes, "She's legendary for her personal indiscretions, not for her films. I've been married seven times, Liz has been married eight. She has one over on me. The bitch has more arrows in her back from a dim-witted cupid than John Kennedy had knives in his from enemies." She stated matter-of-factly as she slid the record from its cover and blew the dust off of it. "Do you like music?" She asked, shooting him a blank look as if to ask for his approval.

"Yes." He nodded, trying to make out the writing on the label, but the letters had nearly worn off.

"My last husband hated music. I was married to him for nearly twenty-five years and in all that time, not a single note was allowed to enter our home. It was miserable, as I love the sound of a symphony, and yet to please him I renounced music. Strange isn't it? What you find yourself agreeing to simply to please another? I eventually began to resent him for denying me the sounds of which I cherished so dearly. I would sneak into the attic on cold winter nights and play these old records at a low volume so he wouldn't hear them. Now I play them loud. I don't care if the entire world can hear. I will not hide them ever again."

"You must live alone."

Lola placed the record over the spindle carefully. Her hands shook from the disease and she in vain, tried to steady them, "I do, but I have not resigned myself to the lifestyle of a wealthy retiree. I keep busy. I do my own thing and find it quite relieving that there's no one to tell me otherwise, as I have always been a woman of independent means."

"Do you have any children?"

The record dropped into position, "No children. No family. I am the last of my breed, and with that comes the privilege of being removed from responsibility. I live only for myself and I wouldn't have it any other way!" She announced emphatically as she flipped a switch on the beastly contraption. The music began. Schubert's rendition of 'Ava Maria' came forth like a falling weightless feather from the shell shaped speaker above. A sonnet composed of five repetitive notes brought to life by an orchestra of Violins and Cellos, soft and harmonic... soothing.

Lola held out her arms gracefully from her body and began drifting across the floor with certain ease, engrossed in melancholy piece. Her head was tilted to her shoulder, her eyes shut. She was in another place, a place so enchanting that if one should submit to its wonder they may never return. Her feet caressed the floor, and her garments swirled out around her like a glorious cyclone. At this moment, Lola possessed unrecognized power. A woman unaware of her own sorcery, for such an enigmatic expression could be considered nothing less. To Thomas, it appeared as though she were performing some secret ritual. She moved with the music, making it visible as it undulated on an invisible current through her.

She danced back over to Thomas, grabbing his hands, lifting them above her, spinning beneath them. She stopped and gazed into his face, smiling. "You're a good dancer," Thomas praised politely.

"Do you dance?" Lola asked.

Thomas bite his bottom lip, "No."

"Oh." Lola replied, disappointment drawing her withered face downward. "Have you ever tried?"

Thomas shook his head, "No. Not really." He admitted coyly.

Lola let go of his hands and pressed her cigarette into an ashtray on the table beside her. "That's a shame... Music and dance is medicine for the soul. Helps put things into perspective, clears your head, helps you grow. It takes you an a spiritual journey, refreshes your mind and makes you stronger. It makes me sick the way these people dance today! It's not even dancing, it's like a seizure. They flop around like a fish out of water. Dancing should be slow and therapeutic. Not something that causes you to throw out your back." She scoffed as she turned off the phonograph and stepped over to the chaise lounge where she proceeded to push her silk cloak outward, it cascaded around her like angel wings, and she sat down draped in all of her magnificence. She patted the empty spot beside her, wanting Thomas to join her. "Come, come. Sit down," She insisted as she put another cigarette between her painted lips, striking a match.

Thomas complied with her request. "If you'd like to dance I can teach you. Unfortunately my days are busy with other clients, so evening will have to do," She explained, as though it had been he who suggested the service.

"You teach people to dance?"

Lola pushed a stray curl from her eye, "Certainly! Haven't you seen the cars parked outside my house? I presume that with you living directly across the street you should have noticed all the comings and goings." She crossed her legs and picked up a small, antique, handheld mirror. She studied her mask of make-up, and although the foundation had caked, prominently defining every wrinkle, she seemed rather proud of her artwork. "I have mostly young clients. Men who are getting married and don't want to look foolish at their reception. Some wish to learn just to impress their significant others. Some just have a need to culture themselves." She spoke quietly and carefully as she glanced over to the table beside her and lifted up a tube of liquid eyeliner between her knuckles, for to grasp it would mean to extend her fingers, and given the advanced stage of her disease, that was now impossible. She wedged the bottle between her bent fingers and the palm of her hand that they were imbedded against, and she struggled to loosen the cap.

Thomas tried not to stare. He felt guilty for having such capable hands. That this bottle should present itself as an insubordinate obstacle, when Thomas- being right there- had large, strong hands. He questioned his instinctive tendency to offer help. Would she be insulted, feeling her pride had been compromised? He couldn't just sit there while she strained to dislodge the cap. That was cruel.

"Do you want me to get that for you?" He asked, wisely choosing the tone of his eventual delivery as not to lead her to believe he had deemed her helpless.

"I can do it, dear. The second I give up is the second they've beaten me. I never go out without a fight." She announced, still heavy in concentration.

Thomas noted her every movement. They seemed choreographed as if she knew exactly how to negotiate that cap without asking for help. Two stubborn stumps refusing to accept their debility. A woman so accustomed to a life of hardships that she had somehow grown immune, and would allow herself no other option than to make those betraying hands work. Then, with a final twist, the cap began to move. Without any regard to her battle won, she began applying a black line above her eyelids.

Obviously she was used to being confronted with, and defeating small hurdles. "Now... Tell me," Lola began, her mouth held in a frozen shape as she examined her image in the mirror, making sure her liner had been drawn evenly. She squinted and doused the tiny brush into the bottle again, saturating it with the muddy liquid, "How much do you love this boy?"

The informal, nonchalant way she proposed the question prevented it from registering as anything but a common topic. He began to answer, "I really, really love-" It hit him like a slap across the face- "What? What?!"

Lola held the mirror at arm's length and batted her lashes, admiring herself. She giggled aloud, "Oh, don't get your feathers all ruffled. It was an innocent question requiring only an innocent answer. And don't lie to me. I will not tolerate lies, especially when they disempower the liar."

"I wasn't going to lie," Thomas testified, still a bit bewildered.

"Well, you weren't forthcoming with the truth. You were about to say what was in your heart but you let your mind get in the way. Don't stop to think, Sweetie. It lessens the credibility of the testimony."

"You just took me by surprise, that all." Thomas stammered.

"Life is full of surprises, get used to it. Now, answer my question. How much do you love him?" She reiterated, not giving him the time to reply before she began provoking a straight answer. "DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK. SAY IT! SAY WHAT YOU FEEL! DON'T THINK ABOUT IT!"

"I'm not thinking." Thomas argued, outweighed by her Lola's continuous ranting.

"YOU ARE! YOU'RE THINKING! DON'T DENY IT! IF YOU WEREN'T THINKING YOU WOULDN'T HESITATE!" She hollered, her voice carrying far across the room.

Thomas tried to intervene but she was constant in her claim. Lola would not let him speak, "I'm not hesitating! I'M NOT HESITATING!"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION THEN. TELL ME." Thomas found himself yelling above her to be heard. "I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE MY LIFE HAS GIVEN ME. I LOVE HIM FOR MAKING ME FEEL THIS WAY!"

It fell silent. A contented smile grew on Lola's face. She moved her elbow up on the armrest and held it to her limp wrist to her forehead, "Good boy." Her persistence and accepting demeanor comforted the young man. A part of him admired the fact that she would not let him evade the purity of his feelings. He knew she would listen with unbiased ears. "I love him... more than I ever imagined I could love someone."

"I know you do... I just wanted to hear you say it." She said tenderly. "It makes my heart smile to hear of such a love. Like a song without music."

"How did you know?" Thomas asked, still reeling from his confession. His adrenaline was still rushing through him. It felt so good to have admitted it aloud for the first time.

Lola took a deep, audible breath through her nose, glancing upward at the lights, "The way you held him in your arms. So close to you. I could see that you were so afraid. Afraid that you would lose him. I knew that had you had a choice you would have traded places with him just to take away his pain... and you sat beside him, holding his hand, consoling him though he could not hear. The look in your eyes, even when you speak of him now, it betrays you. A love such like that should never go unspoken." Lola looked directly at him, her bright eyes much like her mind, refusing to conform to age, "I remember being in love. I also remember being very disappointed after he was gone. Even as I got older and married a few more times, I was still haunted by my love for him. Everyone else seemed to pale in comparison. No one could captured his smile, or the soft way he spoke to me in moments of passion, or how he cradled me during times of sorrow. No matter how many men I married, though they all had some quality I loved, none of them possessed all the qualities of Jonathan. I searched for someone who could fill his shoes for many, many years... and no one ever could... He was my first love, Thomas. Had I married him, I would have never married again. I would have spared myself a lifetime of searching and seven sad marriages."

"Why didn't you marry him?" Thomas' voice sank to a whisper, his interest peaking.

Lola's grin remained etched on her face. She turned her head slowly in his direction, "It was not acceptable. I was seventeen and he was twenty. My father was a man of respect and authority. Jonathan was a simple peasant as far as anyone was concerned. Back in those days it was forbidden for a socialite to mix with anyone considered to be of lesser stature. You see, Jonathan was a man of color."

"Why didn't you run away? Surely you two could have found some way to be together," Thomas exclaimed, wishing he could take back the hands of time and change history.

Lola sat upright. His concern, as if it her history were not engraved in stone and he could do something about it, pleased her. She appreciated this, almost embraced it, but recoiled. "I wanted to run away, Thomas. That would have provided me with my happy ending. As I recall we were going to run out of the state and set up our own farm in Louisiana. We were to meet at the gates of my family's estate at midnight. I packed as much as I could and watched the time drift by me. It was nearly time for me to go when my father came into my room. He sat down beside me and kissed me on my cheek. You see, my daddy knew of my love for Jonathan and dared me to ever speak his name. He knew I was going to run. Don't know how, maybe because that's what he would've done if he had been me. I'll never forget what he said to me. I can hear him as if he were sitting right here with us today. 'Lola,' he said, 'the world is a dangerous place. If any white man were to see you with a colored he would most definitely see to it he never laid hands on one of our breed again. There's nowhere to go. You will live a life of despair. Should you go, and the men in sheets find you, he'll parish. Do you want him to parish for you?' I didn't answer him. He got up and left the room, and I sat there and I cried, and I damned the world we lived in, I cursed my father and I renounced my faith in the almighty for I had lost all that mattered to me. And I knew he was right. If I truly loved my Jonathan, why would I willing go and seal his fate? I loved him to much to let him die just for the sake of loving me. So I went to my window, and by this time midnight had come and gone. I could still see his lantern through the gates at the end of the old dirt road. He waited for hours before he knew I wasn't coming. He left just before daybreak... and I was never to see him again." Lola took Thomas's hand and held it softly beneath her own. She didn't cry for those tears had been shed ages ago, "Thomas, that first love... the first time you feel that magic inside of you... nothing, not age or seven husbands, not even time can take away that feeling. You only have one true love in all your life. One. If you sacrifice that, sure others will come and go, you'll have moments of happiness and pleasure, but there will never be another first. Never. Don't let it go. Not for anything in the world. Savor this. Keep it and cherish the fact that you have found each other, for this will be with you for the rest of eternity. This one love. Don't spend your life dancing in the arms of somebody you wish was someone else. Don't be like me. Don't dance alone..."

Rachel stared down into the bowl of mush that had once been oat bran. No matter how much she tried to stir some hunger, the food had absolutely no appeal. The very thought of it nauseated her. She was still exhausted from the happenings of the night before and, although sleep had evaded her, she was not tired. One could tell by the dark circles underneath her eyes and her gaunt appearance that she had little rest. She hadn't said more than two words to her mother, who sat across from her.

Carol had already finished her breakfast and washed her bowl. Now she was flipping through the morning paper. The rustling of the pages met Rachel's ears with the fury of thunder. Carol peered over the top of the classified section at her weary daughter. The large scrape on the side of her face had scabbed over during the night but the flesh around it had bruised severely. "You should put something on that. We have some antibiotic cream in the medicine cabinet," she suggested. She had hoped for more than a one syllable reply from Rachel. Some sign that she was still coherent.

"I'm fine," was her only offering. She propped her elbow up on the table and rested her head against it as if she were just reacting to some detrimental news.

Carol was an educated woman. Book smart. She had recently come to the difficult conclusion that her common sense regarding the emotions of others was nonetheless dull. But, it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that something more profound than the obvious was wrong with Rachel.

"I'm going over to Tim's house later. Corey should be home from the hospital by now. I bet he'd love to see you." She said, trying to stimulate a willingness to admit the reasons for her withdrawn actions. Carol didn't want to pry. She wanted to believe that if Rachel was troubled, she would trust her enough to confide in her. That had always been the process before, ever since Rachel was a little girl. She had always come to her mother. They had come so far over the summer. Their relationship had transpired the formality of the obligatory mother-daughter bond. They were friends now.

"Rachel, what's wrong? Talk to me." Carol insisted, almost perturbed that Rachel wasn't more talkative. She sat her newspaper aside, opening the eye-line between them. Now she was completely accessible.

With her head down, Rachel clutched her hair in her fist. "How did you end up at Corey's house last night?"

That wasn't necessarily what Carol expected to hear. "What do you mean?" She retorted, suddenly feeling incriminated despite the fact that she had done nothing wrong.

Rachel lifted her head. Her eyes, red and swollen, met Carol's with a vacant chill. "You were at the Evans' house when Thomas came and told you what happened. You said so yourself last night on the telephone when you called me from the hospital. What were you doing there?" Rachel questioned, her tone was steady and controlled.

"You were at the dance. This house is a lonely place when it's empty. I just went over to visit. What's wrong with that?" Carol defended.

"Since when did you and Corey's dad become best friends?" Rachel interrogated calmly, so calm that it disturbed Carol. It was like Rachel was bottled up and the pressure was building slowly.

Carol forced a half laugh, "I don't know what you're talking about Rachel. You know he's helped me through a lot. Is that what you're so upset about?"

Rachel leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms across her bosom. "No mother. What upsets me is that I don't know what's going on anymore. I'm sick and tired of being dismissed like a little child. I'm sick of being taken for granted. I'm sick of being looked over and expected to accommodate everyone else in my life when I don't even get the respect of an explanation. I'm tired of putting on a fake smile and pretending everything's okay when it's not. I'm not like you Mother. I won't be a welcome mat for everyone to wipe their feet on and then thank them for the fucking privilege."

Carol was infuriated by Rachel's stone cold cruelty. She leapt from her chair, causing it to tip backwards and crash to the floor. She planted one hand on the table and pointed the other at Rachel, "Don't you ever speak to me like that. Everything I have ever done has been for you. Don't hold your father over my head. Don't ever throw him in my face like that again! Do you understand me? If you're angry at someone else don't come here and take it out on me. I was your Father's welcome mat for far to long and I will not let anyone treat me like that again, so don't try to make me yours."

Rachel stood up exasperated. She hated what she said. She wished she had never said it. Her mother was right to be angry. Rachel had no business using her as an emotional punching bag. She was just tired of being ignored. She stood and walked to the doorway leading into the living room and stopped, "I'm sorry. I don't want to argue. Just tell Corey I hope he's feeling better." And she walked from Carols view.

Guilt churned inside her stomach as Rachel pushed open her bedroom door and quickly stepped inside. Without any disruption in her movements, she pulled down the shade over her window to dim the morning light, then turned and started toward her closet doors. She yanked a few sweaters from their wire hangers, and spun around to throw open the lid of her suitcase that sat on the foot of her bed. She thought that if she kept herself busy, she wouldn't have time to think too much. The issues that gnawed at the insides of her brain wouldn't have the opportunity to be addressed or pondered. Perhaps she initiated the clash with her Mother on purpose, a way of diverting her thoughts from the limbo in which she was thrown to a more logical area. A place where she had some control and was able to understand the actions of herself and her mother. A preoccupation was necessary. If she thought about Gabe- the way he looked at her from the back of that ambulance- Angie's distant behavior- she would certainly go berserk. She could not tolerate being lost. She had to know what role she had been assigned. What instances had caused her to be placed there. She would not be the willing fool any more. And no matter how she struggled, she could not make sense of anything. Her need to reach some understanding only pulled her deeper into the chasm of confusion. Questions... so many questions. The old Rachel would have just accepted her position in hopes that someone would take her by the hand and explain to her the workings of a seemingly undecipherable paradox. She always relied on someone more informed to sort out the inconsistencies that left her perplexed. Not anymore.

She debated on whether to call Gabe or not. Then she came to the conclusion that he should be the one to call her. He knew she was upset. It would have been common decency to call her and explain himself. It was almost like he knew... but didn't care. Or, maybe he was avoiding her. There were a million maybe's. A million contradictions.

She sat down on the edge of her bed and held her head between her legs. The only consolation that lent itself was in knowing that she would soon be gone. There were to many big things laying ahead to spend the remains of her time worrying about all of these people. The only way to alleviate the stress was to lessen the relevance. "Nothing here matters. None of these people matter." She told herself. It sounded ever so convincing in her head, but some defiant part of her awareness wouldn't let her forget that, despite the numerous times she repeated it, it was still a lie.

Timothy Evans shoved open Corey's bedroom door with his broad shoulder. His left arm was wrapped around a gorgeous basket of silk Daisies and wiry vines. A thin ribbon stating the all too common phrase 'Get Well Soon,' was draped across the stems. Three red, helium filled balloons drifted in his face, aggravating him. In his other hand, he held Corey's small duffel bag.

He hurried inside the room and dropped the bag on the floor, then placed the arrangement of flowers on the dresser. Corey hovered in the doorway behind him, watching him make the arduous decision as to where the bouquet looked best. On the right side of the dresser, or the left... Maybe in the center. Corey took a few steps and knelt down to pick up the bag his Father had dropped on the floor. He slung it down on the bed and unzipped it. He pulled out his robe and walked over to the closet to hang it up.

Timothy spun around and darted in Corey's direction to rescue him from some unknown threat. He yelled frantically, "I can do that! I got it!"

Corey gave him a blank look, an amused grin on his face. "Dad, I'm not crippled. I can hang up my clothes." His Father's imposing attempts to be of help were much appreciated but wearing very thin. Since Corey had woken up, he couldn't so much as move without his father screaming in fear. Naturally it was expected, but a little exaggerated. It was a little embarrassing when the nurse wheeled Corey from his hospital room to the exit and, as he began to stand, his Father swooped him up off his feet swearing he was still to weak to walk. Despite Corey's argument, Timothy carried him to the car like a newborn baby. It must have looked just a little strange. And then, as if that wasn't enough, he took it upon himself to make sure Corey was feeling better by asking him... every two minutes. He insisted on carrying Corey's belongings into the house, only after opening the car door for him, and unbuckling his seat belt for him. Once in the house, as they started up the staircase, Timothy walked ahead, then actually turned back- with his hands already full- to try and carry his son all the way up the steps. Corey finally drew the line. It was getting ridiculous. Corey knew his Dad loved him. He was grateful for his help, but he wasn't an invalid and didn't wish to be treated as one. He hadn't said anything because he knew it made his Father feel good to be able to be of such assistance. Corey wanted to put the entire thing behind him and move on from it. He could still, at the very least, hang up his own clothes.

Deaf to Corey's opposition, Timothy took the robe from his hands and grabbed a coat hanger from the closet. "I think you should just rest. You have plenty of time to doll over simple chores. Just lay down and take it easy. A nap wouldn't hurt." He suggested heartedly, the turned to collect the remains of the bag.

Corey crossed his arms across his chest and tried with all his might to refrain from stealing his Father's thunder. He forced a grin, prying apart his clenched teeth to speak, "I'm not tired, Dad. I have things to do. I only have a couple of days to pack and get everything ready for school-" Timothy halted in his tracks. His vacant stare settled on Corey's face. He found the capability to smile, but only for a moment before it was lost. His words came with sporadic breaths, almost disoriented. It certainly came as a shock. "That's crazy, Corey. You- You can't leave here now. Not after everything that's happened. You need time to recover."

"I'm going to be fine. The doctor said it himself. I have good stamina; I should be back to one hundred percent health in a couple of weeks." Corey explained. He could see the earnestness draining from his father's expression. It was as if Timothy had expected his son to return from his terrifying episode a puddle of weakness. How was it possible that Timothy himself could still harbor such fear when his Corey- the actual victim of such a crime- had the strength to continue on as if nothing ever happened. He had prepared himself for the absolute worst. He waited for Corey to cower into the corner of his room like a scared animal, or crawl beneath his blankets and sink into an immanent depression. Timothy had deliberately pulled every ounce of stability he had, just so he could provide Corey with the comfort and security he would need upon coming home. All this, along with the idea of losing him at a time when he felt he that could have done so much more to make Corey more content. They still had so many late night conversations to share, so many things to laugh at, that the idea of Corey being gone, and all of those opportunities lost, petrified him. Timothy was just thankful to have him home. Safe. Anything less was unthinkable. To care for someone, your only child, and then face having them torn from your life was something Timothy never thought he'd have to face. Luckily, by some grace of God, his child was given back to him. To push him back out into that careless world would be negligent. He could never live with himself if anything were to happen to him. Corey's defiance angered him. Did he not realize how much he meant to his Father?

He spoke low and with sound authority. "I know what's best for you. It is my job to protect you. As your parent, what I say is final wether you like it or not. Until I feel you are ready to go away to school you'll stay right here in this house. If you want to hang up your own clothes, fine. Do it. If you want to run circles around the damn neighborhood, great. Do it. But I will not let you leave here knowing that what happened last night could happen again." Timothy pressed the robe and hanger into Corey's chest.

Corey was enraged. He threw his belongings onto the floor, and protested, "Bad things happen, Dad! A bad thing happened, okay! That doesn't mean you have to keep me here like this. You're not even being reasonable. What are you going to do? Lock me up in my room for the rest of my life? I'm an adult now, I can handle this myself." He yelled.

Timothy started toward the door, "You're not an adult! An adult would have the brains to use some caution after something like that. An adult would be responsible with his life. You want to run off to school where there is no one there to care for you. What if something happened, huh? San Francisco is two thousand miles away, Corey. You're lucky to be alive! Show a little gratitude."

Corey followed him into the hallway hoping he would stop to face him, but Timothy kept walking. "How can you say I'm not grateful? I know I'm lucky to still have my life, but what kind of life will it be if I'm kept like a prisoner by my own father? I fought for everything I was worth to understand what was happening to me. I will not give the guys who hurt me the satisfaction of making me a coward. I will not let this one thing make me live the rest of my life being paranoid. I'm being logical here! Don't you understand that I'm trying to bury this and forget it? Why do you want me to stay here? So you can convince me that I'm this helpless little victim? I'm not that, Dad!"

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and continued on into the kitchen. Timothy resented his son's rebelliousness. He did not want to hear any more. He turned on the faucet and began running hot water over his hands, rubbing them together violently. "I never said you were a victim! Don't argue with me, Corey. I told you that school is out of the question, at least for right now."

Corey stood beside him. Timothy began filling the sink, busying himself with the dishes chore as not to pay to much attention to his son, who was staring at him through cursing eyes.

"Hello?" Carol called meekly as she poked her head around the doorframe leading into the kitchen.

Both Corey and Timothy turned immediately. Secretly, they both thanked her for the welcome disruption of tension. Neither of them had the presence of mind to appropriately greet her, they merely glared at her.

Carol felt a swelling awkwardness. "I knocked..." She informed timidly, as if expecting to be reprimanded for her obvious intrusion. "The door wasn't closed all the way. Is this a bad time?" She wanted to go back to the door and start all over, only this time she would knock louder. Timothy reclaimed is traditional proper disposition and dried his hands on a towel hanging over the handle of a drawer beneath the sink. "No, Carol!" Timothy stated gladly, tossing away his anger. "I'm glad you came. I was expecting you. Have a seat." He hurried over to the table and pulled out a chair for her. Corey turned away from them, bracing himself against the counter top. He looked out the window that faced the back yard. He was hot. The air in the room seemed to be about ninety degrees, not unusual for late summer.

Timothy sat down next to Carol, "Corey and I were just having a conversation."

"An argument," Corey corrected coldly. Though he had attempted to remove himself from the situation by turning away, he couldn't withhold his comments that were designed simply to provoke his dad.

Timothy sneered in Corey's direction, then quickly stood up to counteract Corey's jab with a more sociable offer. "Would you like something to drink? A soda maybe?" He asked as he rushed over to the cupboard and pulled out two glasses.

"A soda is fine," Carol said. She felt it necessary to make some effort to eradicate the intensity. She crossed her legs, straightening her ankle length skirt accordingly over her knees, "Rachel wanted to come, Corey. She sends her best wishes. She has to pack for school. Two more days. Exciting, huh?"

Timothy bit his bottom lip as he dropped some ice into the glass. His body stiffened. He knew his son to well to expect him to keep his mouth shut.

Corey faced the woman; he tilted his head to one side and smiled facetiously. "I'm utterly thrilled. Or, rather, I would be anyhow. But my father decided that I'm not allowed to go to school now. I have to stay here in Sadie and rot like a month old gallon of milk, be denied my education, and become a useless ulcer in the stomach of society. But it's because he cares." Timothy slammed one of the glasses down of the counter. "That's enough Corey."

Corey grinned guilefully, "But I'm just being honest. Or is that prohibited now as well?"

Carol tapped the tip of her fingers against the table and let her eyes wander aimlessly around the room. She felt terribly flustered suddenly. She decided to admire the oil painting on the wall. She studied its intricacies more closely than the artist intended. It was her only way to accommodate her growing discomfort.

Timothy poured the cans of soda over the crackling ice cubes. "Don't be sarcastic. We'll continue this discussion later."

"What discussion? We weren't having a discussion. You were dictating. Dictators don't discuss, they dictate." Corey blasted as he marched out of the kitchen.

Timothy carried the beverages over to the table and once again took his seat. Carol thanked him unsteadily and began gulping. The less time she spent here the better. He smirked at her and sighed. "I'm sorry about this. He's just angry right now," Timothy explained, masking his grievances. Carol could see the preceding conflict had left him disturbed. He continued, "Obviously parents don't do anything right. According to teenagers anyway." He faked an inept laugh and took a drink. His polite attempt to somehow illustrate the harmlessness of the clash she witnessed made Carol feel at ease. He didn't owe her an explanation, but his embarrassment placed them both on the same level.

She smiled pleasantly, "I know what you mean. I have one of my own." She approved, now more relaxed.

"I'm doing the best I can. Someone has to look out for him," Timothy announced candidly. "Why?" Carol inquired. "Corey's not the type to go around looking for trouble."

"I know," Timothy agreed. "But, most of the time you don't have to go looking for trouble to find it. This is a frightening world we live in. No one is safe anymore."

"True. But I've found- mostly though my own experiences- that life is what we make of it. We have more options than we realize. Too often we're too afraid to explore them. Change becomes a disturbing thought. We may not have control over life itself... but we do have some control over what we do with our own lives. Once we give that up, we become a nothing more than a dying fish beneath the current, pushed along by the tumultuous waters of a violent river. Just along for the ride." She could see him carefully assimilating her dialogue. She quickly became self-conscious, realizing the depth of her speech probably had no meaning to him. It did. He relished in her gentleness. The way she painted such a comprehensible idea, making it more clear to the unaware.

Carol rolled her eyes and looked away, grinning dismissively, "Now I'm starting to sound like Dear Abby. You can tell I've had a lot of time in introspect. You'll have to pardon me." She said coyly.

Timothy was staring at her. She was sure he must think her a babbling moron. Carol coughed quietly then took a sip of her soda, trying to take the focus from her. "Please say something. Please say something," she thought as she swallowed hard. It was like a spotlight was shining directly on her and a crowd was waiting for her to perform. His voice was music to her ears. It redeemed her.

"I like the way you say things," he endeared softly, leaning forward as to get closer to her.

Carol waved her hand once in front of her, as if batting away the sincerity of his compliment before it had the chance to reach her, "I'm just neurotic. That's what my husband always told me. I'm too flowery with my thoughts," she giggled.

"No. You just know the meaning of them. You have an understanding that most can only dream about. Your husband just couldn't see that."

Carol didn't reply. She was at a loss for words. The emotions that arose within took her by surprise. She felt giddy and shy. Like she was young again. It was a new feeling. Because it had been so painfully long since she felt that way, she'd forgotten the power of it. So invigorating and fresh. She never imagined she would have that again. Never expected to. She had basically grown so accustomed to living her dull life in black and white that she had lost the ability to remember the vibrant colors of the woman she once was. Now those same colors flushed over her, and the memories of her girlhood seemed not to terribly far. A bit more familiar was the girl she so fondly reminisced about secretly for so long. That part of her that had withered with age, it had been revitalized by Timothy's touch. A reincarnation of herself.

He laid his hand atop hers and caressed her tender skin. She turned her palm upward and wrapped her fingers around his, entwining them. His touch was so delicate and warm. Carol closed her eyes, absorbing every sensual movement of their unspoken intimacy. The way the underneath of his thumb slowly crossed over her wrist, traveling up to the center of her palm causing a slight tickling sensation. How she had missed this feeling. The feeling of desire, of being desired. She missed touch. Being touched, touching another. It replenished her soul. Carol pressed her slender fingers between his and held them outward then brought them down, holding it, inviting it.

A tear crept over her lash and fell to the corner of her eye. She discreetly moved her hand back. She had to overcome all temptation to break their rapture, but until she was out of reach, their holding remained until finally it was just the very tips of their fingers adjoined, as if some spell had been cast over them and was passing through, and then contact was lost.

Carol drew her hand into her lap and stared at it. The telephone screeched, defacing the heavy silence. Timothy didn't move from his seat right away. He couldn't. He wanted so much to take her hand again, just to feel some part of her together with him. Rejecting Timothy's mental will to quiet the ringing, the phone repeated it's annoying summoning. Begrudgingly, Timothy stood up and approached it. He collected himself from the poignancy of that moment, which left him shaken.

He took the receiver from the base and spoke. "Evan's Residence." He greeted only slightly disparagingly. Carol listened to the silence as the caller on the other end of the line spoke to Timothy. For a brief period she felt a spear of guilt, like the anonymous solicitor had caught them in some questionable act, exposing them. As she wracked her brain to think of something bright to say when he returned to her, she heard the one sided conversation continue. "That's not going to work out. I can't leave home," he told the caller in an apologetic tone of voice. Carol continued to listen, not because she wanted to pry, but because it was unavoidable. Timothy exhaled hard, pushing air through his lips in distress, "Yeah, that would be a great opportunity, but my son is not well right now, and my time is just not expendable. I have to be here. It's not possible for me to jaunt off to New York, you'll just have to make that clear to them," he opposed firmly.

Not more than a minute passed before he wound up the call and hung up the telephone. When he rejoined Carol at the table his manner had altered noticeably. In consideration of his depleted state, Carol retreated from her more informal stand and conformed to his sudden displacement. She inched to the edge of her seat, concerned, "Is everything okay?"

Timothy scratched the spot just above his left eyebrow. "Yeah, everything is fine. That was my ex-partner from the law firm I was with back in San Francisco. He's been trying to help me in forming my independent practice. Apparently, there's this high profile client in New York and he referred him to me for further consultation. He knows that I'm in dire need of a big case to provide me with some stability. Unfortunately, that entails an overnight trip into the city, and I can't do that. Not now." He couldn't mask his disappointment, though he made a valiant effort. Corey stepped from around the corner, having heard everything. He stood like a statue, his expression cold and telling. He spoke with quiet control, though his anger was stirring. "Why not?" He asked in a solemn way, almost secretly threatening. Carol and Timothy shot him and apprehensive glare.

Tim stood fast and gave a nervous reply. "You know why. What kind of Father would I be if I leave you the very day you come home from the hospital? You are my son. That makes you my number one priority. More important than any client. Whether you like it or not, you need me here. I need to be here. I will be here. That's not debatable."

Corey didn't flinch, "I don't need you, Dad." He took a stealthy step forward, "I know you're doing this because you care about me. I'm not disputing that. You don't have to prove anything to me. I just don't want things to change because of what happened. I have to go on with my life uninterrupted. I am fine. I feel fine. I don't need you to patronize me. Just because some jerks hurt me doesn't make me incompetent. If I resign myself to helplessness then what purpose will I serve? I will be serving myself a huge injustice. I shouldn't have to negotiate my degree of competency with you. I can't be reliant on you for the rest of my life-"

Timothy interjected fervently, "Yes you can, Corey. That's what I'm here for. You can rely on me."

Corey, in turn, raised his voice objectively, "I know I can rely on you. That's not the issue here. I have to be able to rely on my own instincts as well. Why do you insist on punishing me for something I had no control over? That's what you're doing and you don't even know it. You're holding me accountable for their deeds. I didn't ask for that to happen, Dad. It's not my best interests you're advocating. This is for your own benefit. Otherwise you would be supporting me in my effort to retain my pride and confidence. Instead you're inhibiting that. If you really, honestly love me, why do you want to force me to behave as a common victim? And don't tell me that it's because it's your job." Corey was steadfast in his claim. A part of him felt a painful feeling of guilt, as if he were invoking the loss of his Father's love to gain emancipation. To him, it was an unthinkable exchange. But it was an unreasonable request by his father to ask him to sacrifice one for the other. That's where he found his basis for argument. In their past, Timothy and Corey had many disagreements, trifling ones that paled in comparison to the current. Back then, he always knew his Father was right, yet he persisted in vein. No Corey, you can't go out and play after dark. No Corey, you cannot call someone in Scotland just to hear their accent. No Corey, you may not paint your bedroom black.

Looking back, they were comical components of Corey's childhood immaturity. Corey had believed his father to be strict and cruel, even vilified him for not giving him his way. Of course, now he was able to see the reasoning. Only this was resoundingly different.

For once, Corey felt truly grounded in his stand. He was no longer a child making unpretentious requests. He didn't want to call Scotland just to hear the funny accents, or paint his bedroom black, or go outside and play at midnight. He was petitioning for his independence, and that didn't seem to be such an outlandish act.

Timothy and Corey shared a trepid stare. Relenting, Timothy sat down and finished off his drink, "I'll think about it," he remitted quietly, not surrendering, but withdrawing peacefully to contemplate.

Corey dropped his shoulders, expelling a short, aggravated breath, disapproving of his vagueness. Unsatisfied, he turned and left the kitchen. Timothy tried to maintain some reservation. Certainly this wasn't an accurate depiction of a normal day in the Evans's household. He hoped his clash with his son hadn't left Carol with a negative impression. All he could think to do was apologize for the episode she had just witnessed. "I'm sorry," he said placing his hand on his forehead, sparring with an oncoming ache. Then he remembered that he'd already apologized once before, during the last altercation.

Carol shifted, trying to appear as innocent as possible, as if she hadn't noticed the fight. "Don't be."

"You think I'm a bad parent?" He asked, needing some affirmation as if uncertain in his own position.

"No." She ascertained in a compassionate voice. No matter what she said, the softness of her tones, the distinctive care she used with choosing her words, and the genial manner in which she gazed at him, She would have made even the most frigid heart melt. She had a natural sensitivity toward others, not beseeching any more than offered, not judging. When he looked at her, wanting her to say more just to have the pleasure of hearing her speak, he saw that her mere presence beautified the room, filled him with profound joy.

"Well, what do you think?" He pressed. Since he had no command over the battling that had taken place before her, he figured he may as well include her.

Carol lifted her eyebrows, "You really want to know what I think?" She inquired cautiously, wondering herself if she should impart her opinion.

"You're a logical woman. I respect your ideas, and you're impartial to the circumstance. If the same thing had happened to Rachel, hypothetically, what would you do?" Timothy questioned. Carol pursed her lips together, refreshing her clear gloss. She placed her hands on the table, folding them. "I would go to New York. I would let him go to school." She paused, watching for some change in his expression, then continued, "That's not what you wanted to hear but it's what I think."

"You believe I'm inhibiting him." Timothy concluded plainly, on her behalf.

Carol winced in dread. Similar to the timid squeak of a mouse, she replied quick and sympathetically, "Yes."

"Really?"

Carol jumped to her own defense, "I mean, I can see why you want to keep him home. It's parental intuition to want to protect your child, but there's a fine line between protecting and overwhelming. Corey sounds like he just wants to go away from this, and that's commendable. He doesn't want to make the issue the centerpiece of his existence. Corey needs to know that he hasn't lost anything. Despite being violated in such a brutal way, he has retained the strength to press on and enjoy all that his future is going to offer him. You're stopping him from that." She hurriedly initiated a polite disclaimer, "And I'm just going to shut my mouth right now before I overstep my bounds because my husband always told me to mind my own business and I have probably already said to much as it is just remember that you asked," she rattled in one, long, constant breath.

Timothy's thoughts were still too cyclonic to comprehend her words fully, but he found himself in awe of her long winded answer. It was like she tried to get it all out before he had a chance to offer a rejoinder. She had purposely attempted to diminish the sincerity in her voice, perhaps for fear of being scolded for poking her nose where it didn't belong, by talking in fast forward. It reminded him of a clerk at a drive-thru window.

He began to laugh, and nervously, Carol began to laugh with him. "Sometimes my mouth goes faster than my brain and I end up looking absolutely insane. I'm not though, I promise," she giggled, dispelling any inaccurate impressions her outspokenness may had caused.

Timothy collected himself, his smile fixed proudly on his face, "It's good to be outspoken, Carol. Especially when you have something credible to say... and I appreciate your unbiased view. I just don't feel that it's a plausible option." He switched moods suddenly, from boisterous laughter to a more bleek, conflicted tone. He could find no middle ground. "I know it looks rather extreme, but these measures are necessary. He could've died. When he was up there in that hospital, all I could think of was the things I could have done to prevent it. I've always been lenient with Corey. I've always supported him in his interests, in his issues, in everything. Maybe if I had been more Earthy about it instead of giving him the idea that, because I had no problem with it, no one else would, he would have been more careful."

"So, in all actuality, what you're saying is that Corey should not be as content as he is about being gay."

"No! That's not what I'm saying at all. It's just that, had I instilled in him the true contempt that some people..." he exhaled forcefully, "It's like I've provided him with false security."

"Tim, that not true. You behave as if Corey's a sheltered kid or he's oblivious to the ways of the world. I can guarantee you that he knows there are bad people out there, people that hate him just for the fact that he leads an alternative lifestyle. You're not his only source of influence. He's seen the news. He's read the articles about bigots and murderers. He's just proud enough to walk with his head up. If anything, you should be overjoyed. You have to stop looking at him as a child. He's not a little boy anymore. He's on the verge of adulthood. You have to start looking at him as a grown man with ideas and emotions separate of your own. That's the hardest thing for a parent to do. To look at our child as an individual who no longer needs us to guide them by the hand. It's a process. We spend their entire lives priming them for this moment, teaching right from wrong, good from bad. When they are able to leave the nest, use all they've learned from us, we have to let them go. We have to trust that we ourselves have been good enough parents to provide them with the skills they'll need to make it alone. You're a wonderful Dad. Just because he's leaving doesn't mean that your title is taken away. You've said it yourself, you've always made him proud to be your son, you've always supported him. You've been there when he's needed you. Don't stop now. Listen to him." Carol felt familiar to the subject. Though it would have been unfair to compare their circumstances, the generality of it was the same. She had been forced to see Rachel as something more when she found herself unexpectedly relying on her for strength. "The time always comes when we have no choice but to see another in a new light. It certainly changes the dynamics of the relationship. One almost feels robbed of their authority, but after it happens, we understand that titles remain. Forever a mother, forever a father, forever a son, forever a daughter."

Timothy became completely immobile. The severity of her comment stung him, perhaps even more so with the realization that she was right. He could offer nothing in defense. If he thought in the frame of a Lawyer's mind, he had lost this case. He stood up with a sullen stance and stepped slowly over to the telephone dialing a number. "This is Timothy Evans... I'll be there tonight."

fifteen

In The Storm Of A Secret

Glen Bradford loomed at the bottom of the stairs. "Thomas!" He called loudly, "Come down here for a moment." He lent a backward glance toward the two visitors who stood side by side in the living room. The middle aged man and woman seemed cordial enough, polite and reserved. The man wore a tailored navy blue suit with a black plastic name tag hanging over the breast pocket reading "Elder Philip Brown." He was a tall man with dominant features, broad shoulders, thick limbs. His dark hair receding, thinning, an occasional gray patch eluding to his otherwise undecipherable age. He wore wire framed bifocals that shielded his sincere eyes.

At his side, he held a book tightly in his left hand. His wife next to him was visibly shorter. Her tag boasted her name proudly, "Sister Dora Brown." Chaste in her floral print, ankle length Sunday dress on Saturday, she appeared as a modern day June Cleaver, pearls and all. Her hair was as white as snow and fluffed high on her perfectly round head. She wore a light shade of red lipstick to contrast her pale skin.

Together, Dora and Phillip Brown could have easily inspired a Norman Rockwell painting. Cute as a button. Pure as a bottle of spring water. Sweet as candy.

"Thomas!" Glen yelled again.

Thomas appeared at the top of the stairs. In a tank top and loose fitting jeans, his hair swept in a thousand different directions, he had obviously just woken up. He balanced himself against the railing and peered down upon his father. "Yeah. I'm here. You can stop yelling. I'm up."

"I need you to come down, Son. There are some people here who want to speak with you." Glen said in an inviting tone. So kind, in fact, that it raised Thomas' suspicions immediately.

Thomas hesitated for a long second then began down the stairs, meeting his dad at the bottom. Dora and Phillip approached him, generous smiles plastered across there spirited faces.

Glen took Thomas arm and pushed the boy in front of him as if offering him up for assessment. "This is my son Thomas!" Glen introduced. "Thomas, this is Mr. and Mrs. Brown. They are missionaries from The Church of Holy Grace in New York."

Out of casual respect, Thomas shook their hands and greeted them with a friendly "Hello." His curiosity only grew. His Father never been to church as far as he knew. Much less a church all the way in New York. Something was very fishy about this.

Then, just as quick as he was to question their presence, he passed it off as innocent. This summer had been a strange one, after all. Perhaps his Father had been born again. The thought caused him to jerk with restraint. He wanted to laugh out loud. Crack up. He pursed his lips as not to allow a smile. He could just see it. Glen Bradford, sitting in the front pew of some church, a bible in his hands, singing some hymnal. "Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so." It was unbearable. The muscles in his stomach had contracted, forcing an unusual noise through his nostrils. He hoped no one had heard it. If ever he had been entertained by a notion, this surpassed it by far. It was ludicrous.

Finally, Phillip spoke up, and Thomas was grateful for the distraction. "Your Father contacted us yesterday and informed us as to the unfortunate situation you're in, Thomas." He said this as he put his hand on Thomas' back and ushered him toward the sofa.

Thomas sat down and Phillip planted himself next to him. "My unfortunate situation?" Thomas repeated, dumbfounded.

Dora sat across from them on the opposite sofa, setting her bible on the coffee table in between them. "We're not here to preach to you Thomas. We're here to help you. You shouldn't feel as though we're attacking you," She stated consolingly, though her words gave him no comfort.

He gave them all a precarious glance and pushed a laugh, only not one of humor. "I'm afraid I'm not following."

Glen moved to the other side of his son and fell onto the cushion close beside him. He stared at him through sorrowful eyes, "Thomas, I have not been a good father to you. I know this. I let you down you when you needed me and for that... I am so, so sorry." His voice began to crack as he took Thomas' hand, "I also know that there are a lot of things you're confused about. We're going to help you."

"Help me? Help me with what?" Thomas let his eyes wander the room. This had to be some kind of joke. He felt as if he had inadvertently slipped into the Twilight Zone or something.

Phillip Brown inched his way to the edge of the sofa, "Thomas, your Father has told us about your sexual preference. With you being young, we feel that with aid of therapy and the holy word, we can effectively-"

"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" Thomas intervened loudly as he yanked his hand from his Father's grasp. He stood up smiling, still in disbelief. "You actually mean to tell me that you're here to cure me from being gay?" He howled, clearly entertained by the gesture. No matter how he tried, he couldn't wipe the mocking grin from his face. He wanted to be angry, but the blatant stupidity of these people who believed they could change him was undeniably humorous.

Phillip folded his hands and gave the others an look that clearly stated his discomfort. This was not the reaction that he had expected. From his previous experience in healing homosexuals, he always found them to be eager to change.

"No, Thomas," Dora began apprehensively, wanting to avoid sounding like an enemy, "We're not here to condemn you in any way. We just want to give you the chance to have a normal life." Thomas scoffed at her, causing the woman to recoil back into her chair, "And what would that be, Dora? Do you lead a normal life?"

Dora stuttered nervously, "I- I-" was all she could say.

Seeing his wife's trouble, Phillip rose to meet Thomas face to face, "It's common knowledge that homosexuals lead an unfulfilled lifestyle. It's been proven time and time again. No one wants to face bigotry and discrimination and that's what waits for you out there in the real world, Thomas. We can give you some hope. We have a wonderful facility in upstate New York where many have successfully altered their way of thinking."

Thomas reeled around to meet his Father's eyes. "You want to send me away?"

Glen approached him, doing his best to be empathetic, "It's for your own good, Thomas. The reason you have turned out this way is because of the terrible things that I've done to you. It's my fault that you're feeling like this. I have made you this way because I was a bad father, and all I can do is trust that these people can undo what I have done."

Only now did the anger outweigh the audacity. Thomas' voice fell quiet and deep, a grave symptom of someone on his last leg of civility. "Don't you dare take credit for who I am. I am far too humane to be the result of anything you've ever done to me," he growled sordidly.

"Your Father has admitted to his faults, Thomas. He's already taken the first step in healing. He wants to make a better life for you." Phillip stated unconvincingly.

Thomas surveyed each of the people in the room, one by one. Phillip towered in front of him, maybe to block Thomas' path in case he decided to run. Dora remained sunk into the chair just to his left. The sanctity that once dwelt in her expression had turned sour. She looked skittish as if she believed Thomas may hit her. His Father couldn't contain his sadness. Glen's eyes were red and wet. The corners of his thin mouth were turned downward into a frown. Thomas couldn't find any reasoning. He despised their unreal intentions. He loathed their vulgar display of perverted righteousness.

Grinning, and pushed past Phillip, and then with blazing confidence, the willful boy rotated to meet them again, only now, he was not Thomas. From the holsters of his calfskin belt, he grabbed the ivory handles of the two pistols that rested there, one in each hand. Spinning them masterfully on his fingers with the naturalness of a savant, he brought them to a solid stop pointed directly at the three, domineering folks before him. Holding steady, ready on the triggers, he stared them down.

He saw Dora wearing in a long purple bodice, donned with violet pieces of ruffled lace. The bottom was open in the front, exposing ankle high, thick heeled leather boots that lent themselves to the black fishnet stockings that reached only to her mid-thigh where portions of her garter belts could be seen. Her head was capped with a vintage hat that sprouted bright peacock feathers. In her hand she held a heavy slab of rock that appeared not unlike a gravestone, yet with closer observation, Thomas found it to be carved with the Ten Commandments.

Phillip stood at her side in a heavy, suede trench coat stained with the blood of all the boys he's destroyed, though to him they were not simple stains, they were a way of keeping track of all the homosexuals who had suffered by his hands. Trophies of death. His face was dirty and unshaven. In his cheek he savored a soft clump of chewing tobacco, while a stream of brown spittle ran down his chin. An unusually large, solid gold cross dangling from the thin chain around his neck hung clear down to the middle of his stomach. He rested his palms on the bronze buckle of his tattered belt as he dragged the spur of his boot back and forth across the ground, digging it into the hardwood floor. A threatening gesture.

Thomas' Father, Glen, wore a bandanna around the collar of his shirt which was cloaked by a ratted old cattle hide that draped over his torso. He held a rusted old shotgun over his shoulder and tapped the butt of it with his grimy fingertips menacingly.

"I have a news flash for you fellas. I ain't goin' anywhere with you. If you want me, you'll have to take me outta here in a body bag, 'cause you'll have to kill me first." Thomas sneered with a stiff upper lip.

Phillip took a daring step forward, "I done told ya boy," the gruff man said in a voice that rumbled deep within his throat, "We ain't here to have a showdown, boy. We're on a rescue mission. It's our job to make ya like the rest of us. We don't wanna to hurt ya, we just wanna help ya improve the quality of your life, help ya understand that yer desires are unnatural and sinful, but can be defeated."

Thomas rolled his eyes and tensed the left side of his face in disbelief, "Give me a break. Be honest with yourself. The only reason that you're here is because you find me, and people like me, unacceptable. You sit here and tell me that you want to help me improve the quality of my life because all I'll ever find is hate and discrimination. Now, this is my question, If you know this, then why do you choose to contribute to all that shit by trying to convince me that I'm not right in the head? That I'm confuuused," he sang sarcastically, throwing their words back into their faces. "Is that how you help people? By telling them that they're doomed? That doesn't sound like help to me. That sounds more like manipulation to me. Call me crazy, I don't know my bible as well as I probably should, but does in not somewhere say, 'Judge not lest you be judged?' I mean, excuse me for assuming, but doesn't that mean that, as Missionaries of God, you're the worst kind of hypocrite there is?"

Thomas held his guns outward, cocked his head and smirked, "It's time to turn the tables, okay? What I am, who I am, is all in the cards. Not afraid to tell you folks that I didn't choose to be gay, I was born like this. It's a part of me. Now, since you've chosen to be so frank about my sex life, I'm sure you won't mind me saying, Phillip, that when you take your little woman there, and throw yourself over her lap and beg her to spank your fat ass while you call her Big Momma, I don't think God is exactly rooting you on. Now, of course, what you do in the bedroom is none of my business, in fact it makes me a little sick just to think of it. So, instead of taking an unwelcome interest in what I do behind closed doors, why don't you go back to wherever it is you came from because unlike others, I can see right through you. So the next kid you decide to prey on, you better have enough common sense to ask yourself, Do you feel lucky, Punk?" Thomas began to put pressure on his triggers. He watched the faces of his three challengers fall in fear. "You'll have to forgive me, but I just shot you down."

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Phillip grabbed Dora's arms and dragged her toward the front door. She lagged behind like a rag doll, nearly falling over herself just to keep up. Thomas held his pointer finger up to his lips as if it were a gun, and blew on the tip to cool it off. He could hear them quietly arguing as they hurried away. Their muffled argument echoed through the foyer. "Did you tell him what we do?" Dora whispered in vain. "Don't be stupid! I didn't say anything."

"Big Momma is not something you hear every day, Phil!"

"Lucky guess."

"Did you tell him about the paddle?"

The door opened and then slammed hard. Now all was quiet. Glen crossed his arms and looked at the floor. He wondered, for a moment, how long it had been since he had mopped it. His reflection was not as crisp as he had particularly noticed when he bought the house twenty years prior. Time had dulled it. Time had dulled him. Maybe he had spent so much time doing the wrong things that, now, he had forgotten how to do anything else. It was some divine sentence that had been passed. The privilege of being proud was permanently denied to him. It was too late to suddenly change. Yet, something inside him stirred. It wasn't anywhere physical. Not a twinge in his belly, or a flutter in his chest. No words could describe it. Although his attempt to salvage his relationship with his son backfired, he felt a certain peace of mind. Perhaps it was that Thomas was so proud. It sort of radiated from him now, a confidence altogether uncommon. Glen had once been so proud. Back when he was younger and had the reasons to be. He saw that courage, that dedication, in Thomas. When it came right down to it, they weren't as different as either of them believed.

Glen sat down, "Okay. So I messed up again. I bet you're used to that by now. It's not like I've been very dependable to begin with."

Thomas didn't react. What could he say? His Dad was absolutely right. He wouldn't, out of pity, comfort him.

Glen found the ability to look at his son, "I suppose you're waiting for an apology."

Thomas remained stationary, not permitting any gesture to give atonement to the man. "You don't have to apologize to me. It would be a waste of breath. You have the rest of your life to be sorry."

Glen sighed, "The rest of my life? I've been sorry, kid. It's nothing new."

"Then you should be used to it."

Glen wasn't surprised by the harshness in Thomas' voice. He suffered a deep uprising of reality. This he knew. This he had known, and it hurt like hell. He had to say it aloud, though there was no real purpose because the answer had been apparent years ago. "You're going to leave here soon... you're never coming back, are you?"

"Would you?"

Glen wanted so much to be able to take this man who stood unwavering in his presence and turn back the hands of time so that things would be different, so that this very moment would never have come. He had but one thing to say in response, and it wasn't an excuse, or in his own defense, it came from the purist of places... his heart. "No. No Thomas. I wouldn't." He didn't move, but instead sat unusually still, focused hard on him, "I suppose the only thing left for me to do is say Good-bye. I have hurt you, I have hit you, I have cursed and disappointed you, and I have never regretted anything more in my entire life. You should know that those things I did weren't because of you. They had nothing to do with you. I did them because I was angry at myself and I saw no hope. I was..." he paused, "I am a drunk. I am alone. I'm getting older every day. I didn't do half of the things I wanted to do with my life. I took it all out on you... Because I knew you would always be there. Sounds dumb, I know. I never stopped to think of the consequences. Now that it's all said and done, I guess the only true fatherly thing to do is let you go..." Glen trembled, his fingers shook, his breathing was shallow and short, with every fiber of his being, he fought to refrain from weeping aloud. He took a half second to collect himself and then sighed heavily as he stood. He had breathed it all away now. There was nothing more to say, nothing more he could do. The mask he forced upon himself was deliberately unintelligible, at best, Thomas though, indifferent.

He walked up to his son, looking beyond where he stood, not at him. Thomas waited for him to speak but it was a few moments before he could manage. "I am your Father... I am proud." And then he walked out of the house.

"I don't really remember anything that happened last night," Corey explained as he emptied the contents of his dresser drawer onto the surface. "It's all a big blur. Kind of like after you wake up from a dream. You know something happened, you just don't know what."

Angie sat perched on the edge of the bed with her shoulders pushed up into her neck, "I wish I could help but by the time I got outside you two had already gotten into the ambulance."

Corey began sorting through some old letters, ones from his friends back home. He hadn't heard from them in a long time. They had most likely forgotten about him by now. As he processed Angie's words, he had somewhat of a delayed reaction. It took a second, but upon internal replay, the reference jumped out at him suddenly. "What do you mean, 'You two?' He inquired curiously, turning to her as if just noticing she was there, now focused on her and her alone. Angie had to reiterate her last sentence in her mind, scanning it for something that may have been a dead give-away. She found nothing that would divulge any of her secrets or indict her of any crime. She brushed off her insecurity and answered him. "I mean you guys. You and Chris. Why?"

"Chris was there?" Corey asked softly.

Angie laid back on the bed and stretched her arms over her head. The subject of that 'Chris' had exhausted itself. She wanted to pretend the name struck no familiar chord. She was positive that wherever 'Chris' was, he would be grateful for the hype. She replied for Corey's benefit only, "Yeah. He was there before anyone else, I guess. He went to the hospital with you."

Corey put his hand over his mouth, "Oh my God. And here all this time I've been blowing him off. Why hasn't he called me?!" Corey cringed in guilt. To think that Chris would have stuck by him last night, even after Corey had done everything but written him off completely. "I wish I could talk to him."

"Well walk across the street," Angie mumbled to herself.

"What?" Corey interrogated as he spun to face her again.

Angie knew he didn't hear her, "I was just yawning," She lied. "Can't you call him?"

"No, I can't just call him. You know he's not out to his parents yet."

"Right," Angie spat in a dismissive tone, "I'm sure if you call to say thanks, they'll all know he's bisexual."

Corey stuck out his bottom lip, "Bisexual? How would you know if he's bisexual or not? You don't even know him." Oops! Angie shot straight up, her hair flying in her face. She pushed it back anxiously, "Or Gay! Or whatever," she declared louder than she should have.

Corey moved to her said and sat down beside her. He didn't let her out of his eyesight, "Why would you say Bisexual? Just because someone is not out of the closet doesn't make them Bisexual. Why would you say that?"

Angie stammered for a convincing response, "I- I- I just thought that maybe since, you know, since he didn't want to tell anybody, that it might be he's not sure what he is." She secretly prayed that he would buy it.

Corey leaned back inquisitively, "What would bring you to that conclusion? Being closeted doesn't insinuate that he likes girls too. That's what you're saying, right?" He inspected her changing expressions, as if she were working hard to contort herself.

"Nooooo," Angie cried in a long ascending tone, "I just thought that it would be assuming for me to call him gay when he hasn't made any attempt to call himself that." Sounded good.

"But you'll call him bisexual," Corey assessed pointedly.

Angie's eyes looked as if they were about to pop right into her lap. Her pupils darted to the side and then back to Corey, "I called him that becauzzzzzzzz," If she elongated her last word it would give her more time to conjure up something, only now she was sounding like a bee. Thankfully, Corey bounded to his feet, "Oh! It doesn't matter. I just need to see him. I'm leaving day after tomorrow and I can't go without seeing him at least once." He walked to the window and stared across the front yard at the house across the street. He noticed a bright glare coming from the window directly opposite his. The sun appeared to be reflecting off of something. He tried to adjust his vision by squinting but he could not make it out.

Angie bounced from the bed, "It's past three o'clock. I have to hurry and get home. My Mom will be home from her poker game in a half hour. I promised her that I'd suck the gas out of the lawn mower. The car is low on fuel again and my dad hasn't gotten his check yet, so... BYE!" And like she had jet propulsion on her shoes, she sped out of the bedroom. Corey glanced around the empty bedroom befuddled. "Bye."

From behind the telescope, Gabe watched Angie come out of the Evans' house, jump on her ten speed bike and peddle off down Harrington. He positioned the scope back to its usual position; Directly into Corey's bedroom window. It had become unfortunately familiar, that sinking feeling that devoured him every time he saw Corey and Angie together, or saw Rachel and Corey together. He couldn't suppress the fear of being caught. It was a constant burden that weighed heavier each time he had to speak to any one of them. He often ran the possibilities through his head. It would be so easy for Corey and Rachel to compare notes, and though he made sure to cover his tracks, he wondered if he had missed one somewhere along the way. The uncertainty alone was enough to drive an otherwise sane man, insane.

As he watched Corey through the lens, he felt as if he were standing in his room with him. Seeing his so close made him more accessible, like he could touch him, and Corey would feel him. He could speak, and Corey would hear him. And while the prospect of having Corey within reach soothed him, he knew that it was just the workings of his powerful refracting eyepiece, and it lessened the effect. He may as well be a million miles away. It was all over. Almost. After tomorrow it would all be done and over with. He could resume some degree of normalcy. No more hiding, no more lying. He could just vanish, and the happenings of this summer will become a distant memory. He anticipated the end. He had went into this situation expecting this great change, and yet as it came to a close, he found that while many changes did occur, they were not for the better. Not for the betterment of himself, not of his relationships. A part of him missed the monotony of life before Corey. He yearned for those Sunday afternoon walks with Rachel. The freedom he had once so enjoyed. As he thought back, that was ultimately what he had been trying to do. Keep all of that under glass as not to compromise it. Now it was all gone and he was fighting to have it back. The moment he picked up the telephone to call the boy across the street, his life changed forever.

Another part of him recognized the fact that he was headed to this place anyway. Rachel would have come into her own one day. She would have realized that the Earth would not have stopped turning without him. The sun would still shine. And she would venture out on her own. But, had he not set the wheels in motion, maybe he would still have her... even if just for a while. Then again, without Corey, he would have never been able to comprehend the vastness of the awaiting world, and all its offerings. His Father's church would never have been saved. And this hope... this amazing feeling of invincibility, this ignition of the fires of life, Gabe would not wish that away for anything. Corey had become his muse. He strengthened him in a way that Gabe never imagined. Corey had rescued him from the shackles of rhetoric. Always taking things at face value, accepting things without question. Doling his way through an artificial existence, never looking beneath the simplicity of the surface, never wanting to. Without Corey, things would have most definitely been less complicated, but isn't that where the interesting stuff happens? In the heart of complication. We're confronted with issues and we resolve them, therefore learning and growing. It's like a collection of references on the resume of life. One who suffers no hardships ever has the chance to question the purpose, or understand the reason. Maybe that's what this is all about, this everyday chaos we call being human. It's not about life and death, but about the events in between that give life and death it's meaning. And the meaning, it has a very different definition for each individual. We breathe life into everything we participate in, situations, executed decisions, circumstances, relationships. It's how we handle ourselves in these events that allows us to grow. We basically write the handbook for our own survival as we go along. We process information, act accordingly, and taste the fruits of consequence. Some are good, some rotten. But afterwards, we're less apt to pick the rotten again. It's a matter of taking your life into your own hands, and using your God given capabilities to improve the quality of it. It's an extended education. For the lot of us, it takes a while to master. Bottom line, it's all in the choices we make. We choose to be healthy, but if we poison ourselves, we become ill. We choose to love, but if we love one who chooses not to love in return, does the heart not ache? We choose success, but if we do not work, where will it come from? We choose happiness. We choose a religion. We choose a way of life. In a mansion in Beverly Hills, or a grass hut in Cambodia? We choose simple things. Cappuccino or coffee? Black socks, or brown? The Wall Street Journal or USA Today? It's all up to us. We're our own leader. No one else can be held accountable if we get lost.

So it all made sense, and he was stunned by the profound clarity in which he saw it. He chose this path. Now he must get out of it and yet maintain his dignity, and, at the very least, the friendships of those involved. He could never imagine Rachel or Corey being absent from his life. They were good people with honest intentions. Gabe cast off his selfish desires and opted for a more realistic ideal. He knew that he could never recapture the level of trust that Corey and Rachel had given him in the past. But if he had the opportunity to explain his distorted thinking pattern, they would forgive him for his trespasses. It was a bit far-fetched, but it was his only hope. Gabe didn't like the terms. He knew, despite his attempts to reassure himself, they would both end up despising him. He resorted to his previous decision. Tomorrow was his last day in Sadie. It will all be over. A faded memory.

However, it did seem appropriate to call Corey one last time. After last night, he had to hear his voice, just to make sure he was, somehow, still himself. The notion that such a horrific event may have changed him somehow made him nervous, it was not unheard of, when confronted by tragedy, to become an altogether different creature. He had heard the Geese speak of Josephine Cotter many times, the ex-school teacher, whose husband beat her head into a glass windshield resulting in her becoming a virtual hermit. Now she allegedly roams the sidewalks of the small apartment complex outside town wearing snow boots in the summer and shots in the winter, never uttering a word. People change. Things change people. Some things can never be undone.

The effort seemed harmless enough, but Gabe, while a boy of esteemed intellect, had a heart that was undisciplined. Thus, he had not yet trained his heart to be subservient to his brain. He picked up the phone, a bolt of sheer excitement running through him, and he dialed.

Corey answered after the first ring. "Hello?"

That soft spoken voice was like a drug, wiping his brain of all his logic. He reverted back to square one. "Hi," he greeted quietly, grateful to hear him again.

Corey broke a pleased grin and leaned against the wall. He was now thoroughly distracted. Though his time in Sadie was waning, packing his clothes suddenly took a backseat to a more qualified competitor. This call. "Your ears must have been ringing. I was hoping you would call." "You were?"

"Yeah. I know you were there last night. Angie told me that you went to the hospital with me. I didn't even know you were there."

Gabe rested one hand the sill still staring at Corey's window, only now, without the help of the telescope. "I was worried about you. You okay?"

Flattered by the inquiry, Corey's grin transformed into a coy smile, "I'm fine. I'm on some really great pain killers so... you know, I feel better than usual," he laughed in jest and then silenced before continuing, "I want to see you tonight. I haven't seen you in weeks."

"You don't want to see me," Gabe toyed flirtatiously.

"Yes I do! I miss you." Corey replied just as teasingly.

"If you miss you me so much how come you quit taking my calls? Every time I tried to get a hold of you, your dad said you were out." Gabe stated trying to sound offended.

Corey exhaled, "A lot has been happening. I had a great deal of thinking to do."

"About what?"

"About me and you. The last time I actually saw you, you were standing under my window asking for a second chance. Then, you sort of just disappeared."

"We've talked since then! I was calling you every day, and then all of a sudden you were too busy to give me the time of day. It's like you were second guessing our relationship. You left me in the dark." Gabe argued.

"Well even if I'd wanted to call you, or talk to you, how could I? I don't have your telephone number; I have no idea where you live. What am I supposed to do, walk the streets until I find you? I never told you to stop calling, Chris. You just lost interest." Corey said, now more serious than he realized.

"I never lost interest. You're not the only one dealing with issues you know."

"Never said I was," Corey snapped. The momentary silence that followed offered no satisfaction. Corey knew that he had drifted away from Chris. The time that had passed since their last conversation allowed no renewal of the longing that Corey once so earnestly spoke of. He felt small, as if he were guilty for not feeling the way he used to. Almost felt arrogant. Certainly there was no one else offering up their heart the way Chris had. And it's not that Corey didn't think it was good enough, it was just clear that the spark, the passion, the anticipation had dissolved. Corey fought this. He wanted to be smitten with him again. He wanted to experience that unfounded curiosity about this voice on the other end of his line.

Gabe was the first to speak up, "Have you been writing?"

"No. I should be, but there will be plenty of time for that later on. I only have a few more pages to go anyhow. My publisher will be happy to hear that. I could use the money. Most of my advance was spent on tuition and registration. My dad wanted to pay for it but I insisted on carrying myself. I can't get used to being an indigent. It's not my style." Corey sat down at his desk, his hand supporting his head. He wanted Chris to say something that would stir those stale embers, so he took it upon himself to provoke such a declaration. "Tell me what happened last night, Chris?" His voice trailed off to a whisper.

Gabe stiffened. He refused to tell him that Thomas had been there. He thought before replying, careful not to fumble his words, "I saw you laying there in the road... and I walked to your side as they put you on a stretcher. I held your hand, and I prayed that you would be okay."

"How did I get to the road?"

"I- I don't remember. Everything happened so fast."

With his disappointment obvious, Corey didn't pry for any further details, "I don't remember anything either. All I know is that I was grabbed from behind and pulled into the shadows behind the school. I guess it's a good thing. It's the first time I'm actually happy with censorship," he laughed to break the temptation of pursuing the grim subject. If he gave into it, he would go mad. His brain had chosen to block the majority of it for a reason, perhaps because it would be too much. "I want to thank you for being with me last night. It means a lot to me."

"It meant a lot to me to be there, Corey. I love you."

Those words, once so wanted, needed, now made him cringe because he couldn't reciprocate the way he believed he should. He loved Chris for loving him. He loved him for being with him in his time of despair, but he did not love him as a lover. To say it that way and allow it to be interpreted as such would be misleading and dishonest. "I love you for saying that."

"But do you love me?" Gabe pressed, wanting to hear it without the sly disclaimer.

Oh no. Why did he have to put it so plainly? Corey wanted to say yes. He wanted to gratify Chris with the expected answer. But, he wouldn't do that. He liked Chris. He cared about him. But he didn't love him. He had never loved him. It was an infatuation, a whimsical indulgence in something he himself wanted so badly. This was supposed to be his boyfriend. How could he deny his own boyfriend this sentiment? Hadn't he thrown away all of that fairy tale crap when Chris begged him for forgiveness. Maybe he should just say it. Just because he didn't share the same feelings for Chris now didn't mean he never would. "I love you, Chris."

Hearing that somehow nourished Gabe, and he settled into a more secure mode. "I'll call you in the morning. We'll spend our last day in Sadie together," Gabe suggested happily.

"Okay. See you tomorrow." And with the pit in his stomach ever growing, Corey hung up the telephone, just as Timothy peeked his head around the corner of his open bedroom door.

"I'm leaving. You want to walk me to the car?"

Corey jumped having been startled, "Sure," Corey chirped, quick to dispose of his drowning thoughts. He jumped from his seat and grabbed his sweater off the rail of his bed.

Timothy watched him closely, "Who was on the phone?"

"Chris," Corey replied without any indication of the conundrum he had become embroiled in. "Oh," Timothy joked, "Loverboy."

Corey shuttled him a sarcastic sneer as he straightened his collar.

"I assumed that was over with. You haven't mentioned his name in quite a while... or are you just trying to subside my constant nagging to meet him?" Timothy queried half suspiciously.

Corey stepped up to him as he pulled his hair from the back of his sweater and it fell between his shoulder blades, "Don't worry about it, Dad. In forty eight hours we'll be on opposite sides of the country, not much can happen." He moved past him down the hallway.

Timothy followed, his overnight bag in his hand, "Can I offer my opinion without it being perceived as meddlesome?" He asked as the trampled down the stairs.

"You know what they say about opinions Dad?" Corey said as he raised his eyebrows and opened the front door for his father.

Without missing a beat, Timothy took advantage of the fact that Corey hadn't outright said no. "I like your friend, Tom. He seems like he's got potential."

Corey was rattled by irony. He grabbed for a retaliation but found only air. "How do you know Thomas?" He questioned his attention suddenly aroused.

Timothy grinned proudly, "I have my ways," he taunted as he continued out onto the porch. "I'm not completely out of touch with things."

Corey followed him down onto the walkway, "Well, what did he say to you?"

Timothy didn't stop to respond, he tossed his bag over his shoulder and spun to face him, walking backwards toward the garage, "I know that he likes you an awful lot."

"Nuh-uh!" Corey denied, unable to hide his excitement.

"Yuh-huh!" Timothy confirmed playfully. He turned back and opened the garage door by remote control and took his keys from his pocket to open the trunk. "You should really give him a call. Invite him over for dinner tomorrow night. We'll order a pizza or something."

"Since when did you two become bosom buddies?" He was inebriated by the idea of Thomas gaining his father's acceptance.

After slamming the trunk, Timothy opened the driver's side door and stepped inside, inserting his key into the ignition. He was entertained by Corey's frustration.

Corey stood, blocking the door. He wasn't about to let his Father go anywhere without some explanation, "I'm waiting," Corey demanded, the smile on his pale face visible from outer space, "When did this all happen? I know you dad, it takes a lot for you to embrace someone, especially when you know it's somebody I like."

Timothy looked somberly into his Corey's eyes, "It does not. I'm not as fastidious as you think I am, Corey."

"Yes, you are," Corey assured.

With his feet firmly grounded on the cement of the garage floor, Timothy hesitated, "Okay, so I am," he agreed.

"So tell me," Corey persisted, "Since when?"

"Since he saved your life," he said, his voice losing its solid tone, exchanged for a more hushed expression. Corey studied his Father's face acutely, as if to detect some trace of comical relief. He found none. Their discussion had unexpectedly raised more questions than it answered.

"Thomas was there?"

"He came and got me. Told me what had happened. He rode with us to the hospital and waited there for the police. He knew who did it, he told them, and they were all arrested. If Thomas hadn't stopped them-"

"-Stopped them?"

"He did what I couldn't."

Corey's chest throbbed hard as he listened.

"I better hurry. I want to get there before dark. I hear we're in for some rain tonight, and I hate driving in the city. Are you sure you'll be okay?" Timothy asked with a kind and gentle taking of his Son's hand.

Corey's nodded and stepped back.

"I'll be home tomorrow afternoon. Keep the door locked," he directed as he shut the door and started the car.

Corey watched him pull out of the garage, down the driveway, and out into the street. He honked his horn, and then vanished from view.

And then he ran. He ran like hot coals rested beneath his feet. He charged up the onto the porch and barged through the front door. He grabbed the phone from it cradle and dialed Thomas' number. It rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. "Shit!" Corey yelled as he slammed down the receiver. His mind was flooded with a thousand overlapping thoughts. Thomas. Thomas. He had to talk to him. He had to know what happened.

Discouraged, he curled up in the corner of the sofa, his face resting against the velvety material. He put his arms over his face, shutting out the penetrating light. In a matter of a few minutes, the troubles rolling in his mind slowed. The questions gone unanswered dimmed and the confusion gave way to much needed sleep. Thank God for pain killers. It did little more than soothe the physical aches, for the worst hurting was deep in a place where nothing could alleviate it but a sense of control, and you cannot control what you do not understand.

Corey understood nothing anymore. Not Chris. Not Thomas. Not Angie's reluctance to be close to him. Not Rachel's sudden distance. Not his Father's interest in this woman who was nothing like his mother. He didn't even understand himself. Where had those days gone when he knew... He KNEW. In the blink of an eye. In the blink of an eye. When did it all change? What should he do now? There had to be something. There had to be a way to make it right. Could he go back to the beginning and start all over again. Could he erase the past five months? Did he want to? No. No. There was only one place to go from here. One place left. Ahead. He dreaded this eminent day, and yet he awaited it with nearly grotesque anticipation. Now it was here. Afraid? yes, more than afraid. Terrified. But it had been giving brief clues to its coming. Now it was here. This death of innocence. It was the beginning of the beginning. The dawn of a new age. Time would move faster now. Things would come aggressively, and in turn, affect him less and less. He drifted into this numbing slumber a child. He would awake an adult. It was over.

sixteen

The Ballad of A Broken Heart

Rachel stepped slowly down the upstairs hallway, strangely attentive to her surroundings. The school portraits hung one beside the other, from the toothless kindergartner in the pink, lacy dress, pig tails, rosy cheeks, unknowing smile, to the senior photo. Could have easily have been two different people entirely. How strange the way people change over time and nary anyone ever notices, yet place two pictures of the same girl side by side, and it's startling.

She could hardly remember being that young. Perhaps it was an era of such fortunate innocence, that as we are corrupted by time, it's erased indelibly. A gift suddenly snatched away. She continued on, closely examining the rest of this world in which she grew up and accepted without wonder. A crease in the floral wall paper. The creaking board at the foot of the staircase. The loose pillar in the banister. It all held a certain significance somehow. She had this urgent need to commit it all to memory, every last inch of this house.

Funny how it all seemed new, though she had walked this same hallway millions of times, taken these very steps. Never had she noticed the many nooks and crannies, mostly because she never cared to pay them any attention; too busy playing with dolls, running through the house in her mother's dresses, childish things. All the while, these old walls had witnessed her growth, sheltering her from the chill of winter, the torrential rains of summer. It was here she laughed for the first time, said her first words, took her first steps. The birthplace of so many memories, and Rachel didn't want to forget a thing.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs she surveyed the living room. The fireplace was empty and cold. The silence hung in the air with no place to go. Though, the grandfather clock against the far wall did offer a muffled ticking, a sound no one would ever notice otherwise. The heavy drapes filtered a bit of sunlight. Just enough to see clearly. The furniture was older than her. The couch was where she would take her naps, the matching chair across from it was once known as the time out chair where she would sit with her bottom lip stuck out and her arms crossed. The first swear word that ever crossed her lips, "Shit," landed her in that chair for thirty minutes. And she could recall afterward running into the back yard out of her Father's hearing range and chanting the word repeatedly just to spite her sentence served there. Shit, Shit, Shit, she sang gloriously, though she had no idea what it meant, just that it was bad, and she could get away with it as long as nobody heard.

And then there was the piano. Once upon a time a little girl's tiny fingers graced those dusty, ivory keys. No one had been at that bench for years. As far as she knew, she had been the last. It hadn't been tuned in lord only knows how long, but still, she wondered if she still could...

She sat down and studied each key below her, half afraid to touch them. The little girl inside her, still there, just hidden away, outgrown, wanted to hear that sound. She had always been quite the little virtuoso. Curiously, she pondered her ability... or, like so many other things past, had she forgotten? With her pointer finger, she gently tapped the Middle C key. It hummed through the house, faded, and fell silent again. A short, but lovely visit from an old friend. She grinned unconsciously. It was as if the piano had welcomed her back, edging her onward. It was difficult to remember all the tunes she once played so effortlessly. Various notes returned to her mind, but not an entire song. Finally, she reached into the vault of her memory and found the first song she had ever played. It came over her like the resurrection of the child she once was.

Suddenly she was Eight years old again, and the finger that touched the first key had transformed into a small extension of a tiny hand. Her voice that sang along echoed through her like a ghost, somehow transcending time. A sweet voice, precious and youthful, untainted by what was to come. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky..." She stopped cold, her finger still depressing the last ivory. The steady hum of the chord slowly died. It seemed so easy. Too easy. A child's tune. She needed to find something a bit more appropriate for her position. After all, she had taken plenty of lessons, she should have something better to play, perhaps something more elaborate and sophisticated.

Rachel placed her hands accordingly and began to play the last song she learned. She sang the words softly, almost modestly. "Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile, even though it's breaking. When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by. If you smile through your fears and sorrow, smile, and maybe tomorrow, you'll see the sun come shining through.... for you-" She paused, closing her eyes, feeling the key vibrate beneath her forefinger. She took a deep breath and opened them once again, only now, the lights had dimmed considerably.

An old man in a wooden chair sat behind her, a cello resting between his legs. He tipped his tattered brown hat and grinned at her approvingly. She glanced over her other shoulder only to see another man sitting there behind a set of drums and symbols. He offered a polite nod of his head and wink of his eye. Finally she looked outward, beyond what appeared to be bright stage lights, sat an audience awaiting her performance. Men and women in evening gowns and tuxedos. From the rafters high above, a huge spotlight shone down directly upon her and a booming voice from the speakers presented itself, announcing her to the crowd of onlookers. "Ladies and Gentleman.... Rachel Porter!" And then she continued, only this time, accompanied by her imagination. She could her it so clearly, the plucking of the cello strings, the light tap of the symbols. It was perfect. Perfect. With a rising of exhilaration, she sang proudly. "Light up your face with gladness. Hide every trace of sadness. Although a tear may be ever so near, that's the time, you must keep on trying. Smile, what's the use of crying? You'll find that life is still worthwhile, if You - Just - Smile..."

An eruption of applause. A standing ovation. Whistles and muffled hoots and hollers from faces she could not see. This was her driving force, this moment of overwhelming exuberance. Pride in knowing she had given a performance worthy of praise. Knowing the moment belonged to her, and deservedly so. A moment earned. An effort achieved alone. The star of her own show. This was the path she had started on long ago, before she lost her way. The music. She dreamed of composing her own pieces and playing them to the world. As a little girl on this very bench, she had these dreams. The splendid striking of each key met her ears like a song all its own, and she bathed in their musical beauty, drenched herself in the strength of the tones. And yet, she was afraid it was an unlikely feat. She was only one girl and had never witnessed anything on a grand scale. As far as she was concerned, she was a myopic addition to that competitive arena. People like her aren't met with any great expectations. Therefore, she never found it necessary to challenge herself. No one would think any the less of her for it, because no one believes it a plausible route.

Women from Sadie become teachers, or bank tellers, or house wives. That's why she stopped playing. She had this smoldering fear that if she had nerve enough to pursue that outlandish dream, and subsequently failed, she would never be able to go back and change directions. She would forever be trapped in the "I told you so" state. She concluded that it was more feasible to conform to the reality. Go to school, get married, have a few kids. After all, who was she to dispute the small town ideal? It was common knowledge that success was having the respect of your peers, not in setting out to realize some infantile fantasy. That was left to the free spirits and the chemically imbalanced. Nice girls do as they're told.

The thought made her ill, poisoning her with its rusted logic. How could she have been so stunted? The very notion of her becoming a product of this robotic environment chilled her to the bone. There was nothing wrong with having big dreams! Nothing wrong with expecting more from people than just mediocrity! One shouldn't be considered flippant for reaching for something beyond the ordinary. Sure, some may find satisfaction in being average. Certainly those who find average easy to achieve, and if that's all one desires, then they've succeeded. But what about the girl who wants more? Should she cast her hopes to the wind for fear of being considered impertinent? That's what she did... sadly. Luckily there was time to change. She could reclaim her goals, and the determination to meet them. She had it once, and it sickened her that, until now, she was all to willing to let it go.

Now it infested her, the taste of possibility danced on her tongue and spread aggressively through her body, tickling every nerve. It was the birth of motivation. It was now clear that this audience, this fantasy, this indulgence of her imagination, didn't have to be just that. It could be real if she just tried. True success could only be measured by the effort placed into the realization of a dream. If she were to simply accept less than she wanted using environmental impairment as an excuse, she would have already failed. She almost did... Almost. She regarded this as not an attempt, like using an arrow to hit a bull's eye, one shot, hit or miss. This was an adventure. If she truly wished to obtain her goal, she had to keep shooting. Failure, even just falling short, was not an option. Her sights were set clear and she was ready to fire for the first time.

With the great magnitude of the future peeking over the horizon, it made life in Sadie appear insignificant. It was as if her entire life up to this point had been a detailed preparation for this very realization.

Churning thunder heads crept higher into the evening sky, threatening the tiny seaside village with a not too far away rumbling. A storm was coming. By the time it would reach Sadie, it would be stronger. It moved fast, like it was headed for some predetermined destination and was making a visible attempt to get there. Pleasant County, of which Sadie made up the largest portion of, was under a Severe Thunderstorm Warning as Channel 13 News reported. For once they were right, and for much of the population it came as a surprise because it was well known that, despite the advanced technology of satellite weather radar, the so called expert forecasters were typically wrong. If they called for rain, one could count on having to water their garden; if it was supposed to be sunny, most carried umbrellas. To their credit, this storm met the coast with wild rage. The rains beat against the earth with violent anger. Thick streaks of forked lightning broke from the womb of the black mother cloud with a frenzied vengeance, burning the skies with heavenly fire.

Corey remained sleeping on the sofa. What was happening on the outside was not much different from the events inside his head. For all he knew, deep in his sheltered slumber, he could have manifested this by sheer influence. The television beeped loudly as a red stripe ran across the bottom of the screen notifying the counties in the warpath. Corey was unaware, his eyes didn't even flutter. Then light filled the living room for a brief second, illuminating every shadow. Suddenly, as if the storm were celebrating its arrival, the television went dead. The clock on the wall stopped ticking at exactly Nine Thirteen. The street lamps on Harrington flickered twice, and then burned black. Every window darkened. The true essence of night had fallen, and Sadie had succumbed.

Corey opened his eyes. It was odd, for the sounds of the storm did not disrupt him. Not the crashing thunder that seemed infinite or the sheets of heavy rain slamming against the metal siding of the house. It was the haunting silence that unnerved him. The steady sounds of the atmosphere became a fixture, the rain a strange melody, the thunder its voice. But the quietude appeared unwelcoming. He sat up directly, now wide awake. He looked at the blank television screen, at the oblivion beyond the spattered window pane. He turned the small knob beneath the burgundy lampshade at his side. No electricity. How long had he been sleeping? He could tell his medication was wearing off because his ribs ached more with every breath.

"It figures," he sighed aloud as he placed his hands over his face in an attempt to wipe the remnants of sleep from his eyes. And then he heard it. Like the leg of a table moving a short distance across the hardwood floor. It had come from behind him... somewhere back there. Corey turned and examined the dense fog of blackness. Had his Father come back? He waited to see if there would be some other evidence of an unseen presence. He called out for some confirmation. "Hello?" He waited. To his dismay, no one answered, no one was there... at least, no one who wanted him to know.

Oh God! That was a completely nonsensical thought. The house was secure. He had made sure that both doors, back and front, were locked... hadn't he? He couldn't remember. "Think! Think! Did you lock the door?" All he could recollect was running into the house frantically to call Thomas. The details remained vague. THUMP! What was that? He knew he heard something this time. It was a distinctive noise. A footstep maybe? The sound of someone bumping into the desk in the outer hallway? Corey's awareness peaked. Chills ran over his skin, prickling it, though there was no breeze. What would he do? What if someone was in the house? What if he didn't lock the door? What if... what if... He stared hard, trying to overcome the dark, wishing he had the ability to see. Wishing there was light. Praying he was alone.

He had the notion to curl up into a ball again. Pretend he hadn't heard anything. Maybe he was just being paranoid... maybe it was just a projection of his vivid imagination. He did have a tendency to dramatize things. It could have been the house. The house was settling, or the water heater kicked on in the closet. Corey tried to obtain his composure, his collected frame of mind. He laid back down, staring up at the ceiling, his hands maneuvering around each other nervously on his stomach. He was being absurd. He rolled his eyes in jest and relaxed. Certainly if someone wanted to kill him, they would have done it already, while he was sleeping.

And then the figure leapt over the back of the sofa, landing poised on top of Corey, pinning him to the cushions. Corey cried out in terror, unable to move, or fight the attacker off. He struggled for freedom until he notice the slight red glow above him. The harsh stench of fresh cigarette smoke scorched his nostrils. It was him. He was here. That boy. He was back.

"You miss me?" The kid asked playfully, the deep rasp in his voice oozing contempt and morbid amusement.

Corey felt the shards of fear rip through his veins, fueled by the power of his pounding heart. He said nothing.

The kid sucked on his cigarette, "We have unfinished business, you and me. You didn't actually think I would let you get away, did you?" He took the cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger, "Paybacks are a bitch." He placed the fiery end of the cigarette to Corey's eye.

Corey turned his head to avoid the scalding heat, but the boy grabbed his neck and forced him back, his hand slowly tightening. "This will only hurt for a minute." The ash crushed into the wetness of his eye. Corey screamed in agony. His arms flailed through the air, and then he fell off the couch to the floor.

He quickly sat up and saw no one there. He wiped the tears from his eye. It took a moment before he had the presence of mind to realize it was just a nightmare. Nothing more. Trembling air rattled loosely in his gullet. He couldn't control it. He felt like he were hyperventilating. He wept aloud, still terrified even though it was over with. He cradled himself, unable to find consolation. Just breathe. Just breathe. Finally, he found his bearings, now able to differentiate the real from the unreal. "I'm okay." He thought. "I'm okay." He rose from the floor, still rather shaken and unstable. He swallowed with trouble, unable to contract the muscles in his throat. The fear ruled him. He had to exile it from his mind. Those kids were not as much an enemy as that of the fear they incurred, of which had branded Corey, claiming him. Unwilling to be branded, Corey disciplined his muscles and regained some sense of reason. He pushed his hand through his long dark hair and started into the kitchen. It could have been a subconscious act of paranoia, or a display of responsibility, or even just habit, but he walked to the sliding glass door that lead to the back patio and he tugged on it, checking to make sure it was locked. Thankfully, it did not budge. What a relief.

He walked out of the kitchen to back into the living room and on into the hallway. He put his hand around the doorknob and turned it, cringing as it opened with ease. He immediately turned to face the foyer. He never remembered darkness being so... dark. Gusts of fast wind blew against his back, rustling papers on the desk, that scattered and drifted up into the air, and then to the floor. He couldn't suppress his anxiety, it defied him. He grew more tense as he moved to the bottom of the stairwell and gazed upward. As the breezes that infiltrated the house through the open door became more volatile, portraits hanging from the walls began to quake, and one fell. The glass shattered on impact, followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder.

Instantly, Corey spun around, panic taking hold of him. He ran out the front door, slamming it behind him. The cold rain beat against his flesh as he escaped into the front yard and kept going. He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere would be better than that house. It was as though he were guided by an invisible track, one that would not let him derail. Into the street he fled, his feet splashing through puddles of black water that jump up at him. Lightening streaked above, horizontally across rotating sky, taunting him, feeding his fright. With his eyes flooded and his T-shirt and jeans drenched, his black hair glistening like an oil slick, he found himself charging up Thomas's lawn. He slipped on the wet grass but didn't fall. He bounded up onto the porch and pounded on the door, his chest rising and falling from the exertion. Impatiently, he grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open, rushing inside.

He closed the door behind him and then glanced around the empty house. He knew it was rather bold to help himself in like he did, and because of his polite upbringing, he pondered Thomas' reaction, even debated whether to go back outside and knock again. Then, he noticed a dim light at the top of the stairs, it appeared to pulsate, brightening and dimming.

"Thomas?" His voice shook slightly. He made sure not to be too loud, for it would disrupt the serene surrounding. Out of pure desperation, an insatiable need to see a familiar face, he walked up the steps. He could hear music in the distance, something slow and soft. A velvety voice backed by the gentle convergence of instruments.

Once at the top, he found the light coming from Thomas's bedroom. The door was halfway open and the eerie, yellowish glow from inside enveloped the white walls. Corey began down the long, wide hall, toward the room cautiously. He knew that, once he found Thomas, actually faced him, he owed him and explanation for his intrusive behavior. For some reason, 'I had a bad dream,' didn't sound to appropriate. Thoughts presented themselves and quickly ebbed, for Corey's only interest was in being away from home. As he approached the door, he found a strange comfort in knowing that Thomas was just on the other side. He knocked lightly, and then gave it a modest shove. The room came into view and he stepped inside.

Candles flickered on their wicks all over the room. Dozens of candles, taper candles in sconces, votive candles in glass cups. Thomas was nowhere in sight, though his bed was unmade, and the music was coming from the battery operated stereo on the corner shelf. And then he saw them. He didn't know why they hadn't been the first thing he noticed, but now they had his full attention. Large framed drawings hanging from the walls, ten of them, all drawn in exquisite detail, as if every thrust of the charcoal pencil, every line, was a picture all its own. They were all of Corey, all of himself. One drawing depicted his face, just his eyes, his lips and nose, amidst a partially clouded sky, as if he were staring down from the heavens. Another had him standing at his own bedroom window, a far off look on his face. But the one that captured his full attention was the one of him sitting on the wall of the school water fountain, the water cascading around him, framing him, his hands folded in his lap. That was the first time he had seen Thomas, there at that same fountain.

Corey had totally forgotten the terror, had cast it off for that of a more pleasant demeanor, one of enchantment, of precociousness. In his mind, he tried to go back to that day represented so lavishly by Thomas's talented hand. He wondered if he ever truly did look as Thomas drew him. So splendidly perfect in a moment when no one noticed. Perhaps so lost in a world of his own that, on the outside, his absence showed, making him completely vulnerable to another's perception. When he couldn't manipulate it by his own feelings of insufficiency, or try to compensate for it. An unaware state where he had no incentive to be anything but himself. He was totally unmasked. Just when he thought no one was looking... Someone was. Thomas. Thomas had seen the real him. And now, here it was before him. Elegantly framed by stained oak, beneath flawless glass that caught every solitary movement of the flames blazing around the room.

He heard the creaking of a door behind him and abruptly turned. Thomas walked out of the bathroom, his hair dripping, a cloth towel around his waist. Upon seeing Corey, he stopped firmly, not saying a word at first for he believed it was a hallucination. I could not be. That he would be here, in the middle of the night?

Corey watched him for a moment before allowing a half smile, he grabbed for an excuse, a reason for being in his room, uninvited. "I had a bad dream," he said, a solid break between his words denoting his discomfort. Yep! It did sound like a putrid reason. He should have just made something up. Damn.

Thomas didn't reply. He just stared at Corey, his eyes glued to him, his expression undecipherable.

Corey shifted his weight from his right leg to his left, just for something to do, so he wouldn't stand there like a statue, "I knocked, but I guess..."

Thomas cut him off, "I was in the shower," he claimed as he gestured toward the candle lit doorway behind him.

"I normally wouldn't barge in like this..." Corey stammered hopelessly, "But, I was- I was just scared."

Thomas gazed up at the portrait behind Corey, and it dawned on him that he had been looking at them, probably thinking that Thomas was a lunatic, or stalker. He hurried to amend himself. "I know what you must be thinking," he began apologetically, "I was just trying-"

"They're beautiful," Corey intervened as he followed Thomas' suit and spun to face the picture, "I remember this day." He returned to Thomas and approached him slowly, "Why of me?" He asked sincerely as he stopped a few feet from him.

"I just-" Why did this have to be so difficult? Why did he feel like he had to make up some lie? He had been caught. Corey had come into his room and uncovered his most guarded secret. There was no point in continuing on with this wretched charade. If Corey rejected him he would simply have to deal with it, not keep dodging the inevitable. "You want to know why," he repeated softly to himself, needing to face the question, mustering courage that he did not possess. "I wanted to have you around," he stated shyly as his eyes met the floor in shame.

Corey tried to process the answer as best he could, but before he could find any conclusions, he needed more clarification, "You wanted me around?"

Thomas, inflicted with swelling humiliation, stepped up to Corey, standing in front of him. He pried his head upwards to see Corey's face, look into his eyes, and let it go. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm going to say it anyway. I need to say it." He paused, examining Corey closely, bravely. "Everything means more to me when I'm with you. I've tried not to impose myself on you, or make you feel uncomfortable. I know you can't love someone like me. I know that. But even so, I feel good loving you. It's right for me. I need you in my life. I need to see you. I need to hear your voice and... I need know that you're close to me." Thomas sighed heavily, already defeated, "That's why I did it. I'm sorry." He said sadly as he moved past him toward the center of the room, unable to stand in Corey's view any longer.

A tear ran down Corey's cheek, mixing with the rain droplets that had yet to dry. He had dreamt of this for so long. He never believed it would actually happen. That Thomas would confess feelings of admiration was something that Corey thought impossible. All this time they had loved each other, and yet were to afraid to admit it. Now, here, Thomas was telling him exactly what he had been longing to hear. An offering of love... for him. He could be loved, and he was- by the man he, himself, loved in return. It somehow made it all worthwhile. All the waiting. All the wondering. Even the silly denials and lies that he too was guilty of. What mattered was now, and this man who stood with him.

"I love you too."

As those words crossed Corey's lips, those words so familiar inside, where only he could hear, but unfamiliar when uttered them aloud, he wept with joy. He knew that they had been preserved for this very encounter.

Thomas closed his eyes and let Corey's voice play like a record inside his head. How he treasured hearing him say that. He turned back to Corey and approached him, "What if this is just another dream, and in a few minutes I'll wake up and you'll be gone again."

"If this is a dream, then when you wake, tell me again you love me-" Corey felt his sculpted chest against his back. At first he felt he should move away, as if it were an accident that Thomas would stand so close. But, he did not move, for he liked it, and the temptation to stay overrode his politeness. Only now, just having him close wasn't enough. He wanted him closer, so he leaned into him further. "-And my reply will be the same as it is tonight." Though it was a subtle advance, he didn't want to appear to zealous, so he discreetly searched for some invitation, a more concrete reason to remain. He waited for Thomas to say something. Anything... And then he felt his hands on his shoulders, ever so softly, then down his naked arms.

"Then stay," Thomas whispered quietly as he ran his lips along the bridge of Corey's ear.

Corey reached up behind him and caressed Thomas's face with back of his hand. He could feel the warmth of his mouth on his neck as he spoke. His touch set him on fire, and the cold that had settled into his bones from the rain, was now gone. He turned to Thomas, facing him head on. It surprised him that he was not afraid, nor modest. Without questioning himself, he touched Thomas's exposed chest, then moved into him, kissing him with the furor of a lion uncaged. It was if he'd suddenly broken free from all of his mental and emotional bindings. Now, he craved Thomas.

Thomas pulled back from their union, inspecting Corey's face with great fondness, "Do you want to?"

Corey breathed his reply, and for fear it wasn't heard, nodded.

They stood perfectly still for a moment, enraptured by each other's nearness. Then, Thomas took the bottom of Corey's T-shirt between his fingers, his eye's gracing his pale face, drinking in his slight frame. Those penetrating black eyes, supple lips. He pulled his shirt upward, peeling it from his wet flesh. Corey lifted his arms, and together they removed it, dropping it to the carpet like an old skin. He let his hands explore Corey's face, moving his thumb across his lower lip, down his neck, over his collarbone. "I've wanted to touch you for so long. I've played this night over and over again in my head, having you here with me." He slide his hand over his breast and continued on down. "I thought I would be scared to talk to you. Afraid I would do something you didn't want me to do... say things you wouldn't want me to say. It wasn't like this. It wasn't as perfect." He fondled the button on Corey's jeans. "Are you scared?" He asked respectively.

"No."

Thomas moved his finger inside Corey's waistband, "I was so scared to be close to you... Afraid I would touch you. I was so frightened of touching you. Maybe not frightened of touching you, but more frightened of not being able to stop."

Corey took a step back toward the bed, and Thomas followed. He took off his towel and tossed it aside, and then crawled on top of Corey, easing him down to the surface of the mattress. Corey could feel Thomas's solidness pressing into him as he wrapped his arms around his waist, back over his firm buttocks. Thomas pushed his hand into Corey's pants and forced them off. Upon unveiling Corey's body, he gazed upon it with immense appreciation.

The lovemaking was filled with the graceful and engaging power of body against body. With soothing whispers growing into primal cries of sensuous titillation, they pleased each other. Thomas slid himself inside of Corey, and it was then they partook of true oneness. With a rhapsodic motion, they moved upon the waves of rapture. They held each other tightly, knowing they were there, and forever would be creating memories only they would share.

Corey sat upright with his legs positioned around Thomas's waist as Thomas kissed his erect nipples, stroking his back, moving his hand forward to the insides of Corey's thighs while he rose and fell with choreographed movements upon him. Corey was in ecstasy. Feeling his lover touch him, caress him, come inside of him, made it more intimate and exciting than he ever imagined possible. This wasn't just sex, this was a declaration of their love that had been imprisoned for far too long. It was an evening of definitive passion. They had touched one another in so many ways. Thomas was gentle with his lovemaking. He looked down from above, "I will always love you," he assured in a hushed tone as their hands met in an intense grip and their breathing grew fast and labored.

With perspiration pilling on their meshed bodies, they climaxed together. They were now one grand being. They stayed in each other arms long into the night, dreaming dreams that only lovers dreamed, hearing sounds only lovers heard, and feeling only what lovers feel. This was the reason love existed, this moment, this night. Love in the purist form. The storm had moved on, but traces of it could still be heard somewhere far way.

Angie had just fallen asleep when her telephone rang. At first she thought she was dreaming, so she answered aloud. "Hello?" She mumbled deliriously as she turned on her side. The phone was still nagging, insistent on waking her up. She opened her eyes and wrinkled her nose disgustedly. She slung her arm toward the night stand, knocking the alarm clock to the ground. She felt around for the phone, and finally found it. She grabbed the receiver and pulled it to her ear. "Hello?" She yawned.

Rachel giggled on the other end of the line. "Hey."

"What time is it?" Angie asked rubbing her eyes.

"It's only Eight Thirty. Did I wake you?" She asked facetiously.

Angie yawned again, "No. I was exercising."

Rachel laughed as she twisted the telephone cord between her fingers. She was still dressed and even had make-up on. She simply could not rest. She was sprawled out on her bed, her legs crossed, her neck arched back over the edge of the mattress looking at her surroundings upside down. "I can't seem to wind down. I'm like on this natural high or something. It's after midnight, so that means we only have Twenty four hours left in Sadie. I'm drowning in anticipation, sleep is unfathomable."

"Try," Angie suggested as her droopy eyes disappeared beneath their lids.

"I don't want too! Sleep is boring. Besides, all I'll do is toss and turn all night. I'd rather be busy."

"Rachel, I love you, but can't you call someone else. Call Corey." Angie begged as she flipped onto her belly, trying in vain to find all the warm spots where she once slept so soundly.

"I can't call Corey. He's probably mad at me. I have been neglecting him. I haven't even bothered to inquire about his health since he's been home from the hospital."

"Why not? Are you guys fighting?"

"No. No, we're not fighting. It just seems a little awkward to call him after what happened. You know, seeing Gabe in the ambulance with him. I wouldn't know what to say. Of course, I'd want to know what business Gabe had being in the ambulance with him, but it would make me sound selfish, like that's all I cared about, totally disregarding his well-being. Gabe hasn't even bothered to call me to offer an explanation. You'd think that would have been the first thing he'd do." Rachel sat up and drew her knees up to her bosom, resting her head on them. "But I've been thinking a lot lately. Everything here is coming to a close. Life as I know it is about to change. I thought about letting it all go."

Angie stared out the window as she listened carefully to everything her friend had to say. "Letting all of what go?" She inquired, her attention now fully devoted to the conversation.

"You know... all of this. Everything here. Everything from my past. I'm not the same person I was when you met me. I don't feel the same way about things, about myself. It's like, all of the decisions I made throughout my life seemed appropriate at the time. I had this trust in my life. I trusted that everything was there to stay. Now, I see that those decisions were based on childish ideals. On what I wanted my life to be, not what it was. So I beagn to question the foundation of things, all that I've built myself on. It's not as stable as I once believed it was. This last summer has proven that to me. I started thinking that all of my previous choices were sort of... invalid, I guess. I looked back on it and dissected every choice, wondering if I would make the same ones if I had the opportunity to go back. I wouldn't. I know I wouldn't. So, I began to think of it all as insubstantial, like a practice run. But if that were true, then it would be easy to forget, right? And it's not. All that's happened here, this is what matters to me. I may be leaving for college, but one thing remains the same. I'll always come back to Sadie. This is where I came from. These people, you and Corey and Gabe... you're all part of me. Everyone has contributed something to who I am. That would be ignorant of me just to throw it all away. I never want to forget where I came from. My childhood... my family, my friends. I'll always come back to that, you know? That's where it all began. That's where I began." Rachel listened for a response, but heard nothing. She thought that Angie had fallen asleep until she heard a muffled stir on the other end. "Angie?" She called meekly.

"I'm still here," Angie assured, "I am listening. I understand what you're telling me. There was a part of you that wanted to turn away from it all. Discard the past. I was just having a hard time translating the meaning. It almost sounded like you would have left without a backward glance, or a good-bye. Like you were going to leave us... Me, and disappear into your future, while I disappeared into your past. Is that right?"

Rachel ran her fingernails against her bottom lip as she stared at the wall opposite her, "Yes."

"Why?" Angie interrogated heartbroken.

"Because I was stupid. So many things are going on, and I can't find the ability to comprehend them and it scared me a little. I thought that it wasn't worth the effort because I would be gone soon anyways. It was that little girl inside of me, the one I thought I grew out of. She was ready to run from it all. Pretend none of it happened, hoping it wouldn't follow her into the real world." She buried her head in her hand and her voice broke. "I just don't know what to do. I feel like I don't know anything anymore. Like I fell asleep one night and woke up and the world around me change. Things changed and I don't know when, or why."

"What do you mean?" Angie asked, feeling her sore eyes dampen.

"The whole Gabe thing. One day he's picking me up after church for our Sunday walks. The next day I think of him as a bothersome appendage. And then, he's running to Corey's rescue when they don't even know each other. I keep asking myself, 'What did I miss?' I even started to feel distanced from you and Corey. And then there's the whole thing with my Mom and Corey's Dad... I know there's something happening between them, and I should be happy.... I know it's silly, but I'm so used to this artificial institution where things happen, but they're not spoken about or acknowledged in any way... They just happen." She grew very silent, as though these were thoughts spoken for the first time. "I always just stood on the outside watching, but I feel like I'm in the middle of it all now. I have to understand things... I want to understand them, but there are so many pieces missing that I can't make out a clear picture. That whole scenario, it took me back to when my Mom was with my dad and I believed everything, my life, their life, was perfect... untouchable. I reverted back to being dependent on everyone to handle things. I didn't feel I was strong enough, or smart enough to put it all together. So... I was going to leave it. She was careful to steady her tone now, "But I can't do that now. It's not fair, not fair to me, or to the ones I care about. That's why I'm calling you."

Angie wiped her face on the sleeve of her nightshirt. She understood Rachel's position. Why she would become so disoriented. What she did not understand was why she was calling her. What was she accomplishing in doing so? Did she just need to vent?

"Why? Angie closed her eyes in quiet contemplation. What began as a simple phone call had become something much more important. She knew Rachel had used restlessness as a veiled excuse now, but her confessions left Angie worried... "Why are you calling me?"

Rachel grinned contentedly. She pushed her long hair back over her shoulder and laid down, "To say... Thank you for being my friend."

Angie sat up, her back resting against her oak headboard. It was as though a harpoon of guilt had drilled through her. After all of these months and countless opportunities to be the friend Rachel believed her to be, she wasn't. She had been hoarding such terrible secrets that, as they soured in her awareness, she had soured with them. While Rachel groped aimlessly for some direction that would lead her to resolution, or at least, piece of mind, Angie had, and was still, hindering her. She was supposed to be Rachel's best friend. Her helping hand, her listening ear, her guiding light. She had not lived up to her own standards. Her much cherished friendship had been perverted by a concoction of lies, and betrayal. All of this had festered inside Angie, tarnishing everything she offered as a so-called friend. No matter what she would do, if she kept what she knew to herself, it would never be a pure offering. If she sent a card to Rachel, the very second the ink began to form her name, the secret would surface, and it would laugh, mocking her gesture. Anything that had to do with Rachel, even hearing her name, would summon everything hidden. Shame would rule her, and her friendship with Rachel would be nothing more than a sham. She had filled Gabe's shoes, following in his footsteps. She was a liar. She had lied to someone she loved, and who loved her. How could she do this? After being so alone for such a long time, you'd think she'd honor her two dear friends. She had not. These people helped change her life, gave her confidence, and she had spit on them. The truth had corroded the last bit self-respect she owned. An apology wasn't enough now. Only the truth could set her free.

"I have something I need to say," Angie began, inhaling deeply, hoping the air would renew her strength, give her courage. "You know Corey's boyfriend, Chris?"

Rachel was a little discerned by the shuttering in Angie's voice, "Yeah. I've never met him, but I know who he is."

Angie held the phone so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, "You've never met him because it's Gabe."

Rachel's breath caught in her throat, every muscle in her body tensed to the point of pain, and she waited...

Angie continued "Gabe and Chris are the same person. It was during the dance after graduation. I walked out into the parking lot to tell Corey that I had feelings for him, and I found him and Gabe dancing outside... they were kissing."

"You're joking... That's not Funny."

"No... I'm not."

"Why are you saying this?" She heard Angie begin to cry on the other end, and suddenly the life drained from her body. She knew it was the truth... Another truth that seemed so obvious now... one she had not seen. Maybe one she had not wanted to see... and now the anger began...

Angie sobbed heavily, and hearing Rachel's quiet cries on the other end made her cry harder, "I thought it was a joke when Corey introduced him as Chris. I wanted to tell you guys. I told him I was going to tell both of you, and I-"

CLICK.

Rachel slammed down the telephone and shot up from her bed. She made a frantic dash from her room and blindly scaled the staircase. She was burning with rage and had a ravenous appetite for revenge. She hit the front door with power, not bothering to close it behind her. She ran out across the lawn into the street where the rain spattered trees still dripped. Now, another storm was brewing, one more threatening and violent than the last, for this one was in the all too small confines of her hell bent mind. Nothing short of death could stop her from ending this.

As she ran down Cherry street, cutting a path through the callous winds, Rachel saw how the fringed seams of the story met, and for once, it lavished upon her the gift of clarity. Unfortunately, along with this revelation came a dangerous combination of pain and sorrow. She was crying, and she couldn't tell whether it was from her explosive frenzy, or the indomitable sadness that accompanied it.

Angie ran out of her house and to the side of the garage. Her skin had been etched with the remnants of tears fallen. She pulled her ten speed bicycle away from the moist brick and jumped on, pedaling as fast as her legs would go. She had just exposed a scandal that could potentially destroy four lives. She knew Rachel would go to Gabe's, despite the late hour. Her intent was to get there first. She had to tell Gabe what she had done, and why. This night was the night of redemption. She had to tell her side of the story so no one would mistakenly assume that she lied maliciously. It would be a viable deduction if she weren't there in her own defense. She would seem a coward.

Within minutes she was on Harrington. She was grateful that she lived considerably closer to Gabe than Rachel did. This was her chance to prove to them all that she did not willingly take part in this ongoing charade. Did she? Nothing was stopping her from exposing the truth, nothing but her own fear of exposing herself. That deep seeded love she felt for Corey. If she had told them, it would have appeared that her motives were self-serving, as if she wanted to blow Gabe's cover in order to benefit herself.

No. No. That was not an excuse. She had no excuse, no defense for her crime. In all of her life, from the time she had moved to Sadie, she had grown into a mold of loneliness, believing it was all that would be. And then, Corey and Rachel danced their way into her heart, made her trust, where she could not before. Then Gabe tied strings to her wrists and used her as his personal puppet in his wicked game of deceit, turning her own insecurities and weaknesses against her.

Angie saw Gabe's house come into view. She was quietly gasping for air from weeping so uncontrollably. She had forsaken all she treasured, and not so much for her own benefit, but for Gabe's. All to protect him. So what if Corey new she loved him? At least that was honest. Instead of pursuing an honest relationship, she opted to dive into this torturous sea of angst, and all because Gabe had threatened to tell Corey of her love for him. How dare he? How dare he be so diluted that he would manipulate her into lying for him- No. That's not it. Gabe didn't do anything that Angie hadn't allowed. She WAS a willing participant in his game. This blunt realization struck her with such brutish force, that, as she jumped off her bike, she was stopped by the presence of it. She was trying to lay blame. Grasping for a conceivable reason as to why she would have gone so far with this. There was none. She did it of her own free will. A real friend would have told them immediately after. She did not, and she knew they would want to know why. Whatever answer she gave would not offer any comfort. She did it out of selfishness. She was just as guilty as Gabe, and now it was time to call it out.

She hurried up to Gabe's porch, noticing a light still on in the front window. She knocked on the door. Waited. As the knob began to turn, she felt her heart ascend into her throat.

Mary Cavanaugh poked her head out. "Yes?" She shot Angie an inquisitive glare, silently questioning her solicitation.

"Is Gabe here? I need to talk to him. Tell him it's important," Angie said unsteadily.

Mary smiled and opened up the door all the way, initiating an entrance. She noticed Gabe's family, his father, sister and brother, all lounging around in the dining room. The table was cluttered with plates, some still full with half eaten food. Crete paper had been draped from the chandelier to all four corners of the room. A hand made sign hung on the wall reading, "Farewell Gabe. We'll Miss You," in big colorful letters.

Mary held the small of Angie's back as she issued her toward the table. "You're a little late sweetie. We were just getting ready to clean up. We have some pie left if you'd like some," Mary offered in her pleasant tone, soft as butter, sweet as honey.

Angie shook her head politely, scanning the room for Gabe. Her anxiety was overwhelming her. "I really need to see Gabe."

Mary took note of the disruption in Angie's mannerisms. The way she wove her hands together, the solemn expression on her withered face.

"He went upstairs to make a call. Third door on the left," She stated slowly, glancing at her husband warily.

Angie instantly turned and raced up the wooden steps. She marched down the hall to the third door on the left. She was angry. Angry at herself. Angry at Gabe for continuing this treachery. The more she thought about it, how none of this would have happened had Gabe just told the truth. How she would never have to be here at this very moment, feeling so lost, if he had only been the strong, courageous man all of Sadie thought him to be.

She didn't bother knocking, she just barged into his room. Gabe was sitting on his bed. Upon seeing her, he jumped up, greeting her with fearful eyes. "It's done." She snapped hatefully, "It's over with, Gabe."

Gabe said nothing for a second. He simply stared at her. He took two steps closer to her. They stood like stone in each other's sight.

"What did you do?" Gabe asked, already knowing, but needing to hear.

Angie didn't falter in her stance. She would not let him frighten her. She would not be diminished by him. She had no respect for this man. He was nothing to her. Therefore, she gave him no power. She was the one with the all the power, and she reveled in it, for it was the first time she didn't feel as if the floor were the only thing accepting of her stare. Angie narrowed her eyes, loosened her lips, "I told Rachel everything. She knows, Gabe. She's on her way here now. You will not lie to her anymore... and neither will I," She promised harshly.

Gabe looked around the room helplessly. He rushed to the window and peered through the curtains at the ground below. He looked back to Angie, hoping and praying she was not serious. "If- If- you told her," Gabe stammered threateningly, "Then you just ruined yourself. You know that, right? She'll know that you've been lying. She'll hate you too, and you'll have lost her for good. She'll never be your friend again."

Angie knew he was undoubtedly right, and though it hurt fiercely, she had to pay the consequences, just as he had to. She wished that Rachel would somehow manage to forgive her, and that they might maintain some degree of friendship, but she also knew it was unlikely.

Angie marched up to Gabe, "You may be right. But, I'm ending this now. She may hate us both, but at least you'll never hurt her again. You'll never hurt either one of them. And though I may have gone along with you, I at least have the decency to stop it once and for all. You didn't even have that. You were going to leave here with them both believing in you, trusting you. You don't deserve their trust, and maybe I don't either, but I'm preserving the last bit of quality my friendship has." She breathed hard through her nose, hard and fast as she scolded him with her eyes, "They'll hate us, Gabe. They're right to hate us. But I won't leave Sadie hating myself for what I've done. I have to make it right."

"You notice how it's always cooler after it rains?" Corey asked as he held Thomas' hand. Thomas had been kind enough to walk him home. If fact, he wouldn't have had it any other way. "This is my favorite time. After the rain. There's certain sense of peace. What do they call that? The calm after the storm?"

Thomas laughed, "I believe you're thinking of the calm before the storm."

"Yeah, but I prefer to look forward to what happens after the storm. It's sort of a more optimistic way of acknowledging that it's happened, it's over, and you've survived. Then you get to enjoy the solitude afterwards as a reward." He was looking down at their reflections in the puddles along the edge of the curb. Their image would distort as a random drop fell from a wire above, and then settle once again, bringing them back into focus. It was as if his ethereal surroundings were giving him their blessing. It was a moment of particular splendor, where everything seemed to synchronize, the patterns of their breath, the stepping of their feet.

Thomas wrapped his arm around Corey and kissed him on the head gently, "You're good for me, you know that?"

"You're good for me too. I don't want to leave tomorrow. I don't want to leave you." Corey stated sadly.

"You don't have to," Thomas informed casually, the smile on his face growing as Corey looked up at him surprised.

"What?" Corey asked curiously, smitten by Thomas's radiance.

He stopped, and took Corey's shoulders. He could no longer hide his delight, "I got accepted to the San Francisco Academy of Art. I'll be with you. We can be together."

Corey didn't know what to say. He was so overcome with joy that his only notion was to embrace him. As he did, he heard his name called from the shadows far ahead. Stunned by the sound, he and Thomas watched for the owner to appear.

"Corey!" Rachel entered the soft glow of the street lamp a few yards away. Neither Corey nor Thomas could make out her identity until she came closer, for a light fog had fallen. As Corey realized who it was, he broke from Thomas' arms and began toward her, He knew something was wrong.

"Rachel?"

Her hair was moist and stringy with dew. Her face was flushed and blank. They met in the middle of the street. Corey was disturbed by her battered appearance, "What are you doing, It's late? Are you okay?"

Without an explanation, she took his hand, "Come with me," she said gravely as she began pulling him toward Gabe's house.

Corey was taken of guard by her demanding way. He straggled behind as she drug him along. She obviously knew where she was going, "What are you doing? Where are we going, Rachel? What's going on?"

"We're going to visit friend," She rattled sarcastically as they walked up onto Gabe's porch.

Corey pulled out of her grasp, "What the hell are you doing. Are you crazy? I don't know these people!"

Rachel banged her fist against the door, then turned over her shoulder, "Oh, trust me... yes you do," she said coldly, in a grim voice unlike herself.

It bothered Corey beyond measure to see her like this. Almost scared him.

Thomas pushed his hands into his pockets and walked across the street, standing on the sidewalk in front of Gabe's house, watching them carefully.

Gabe's Mother opened the door. She eyed Rachel and grinned, "Rachel, what a surprise." Then glanced at Corey and her face fell. She was wondering what Rachel was doing with the lesbian.

"Mrs. Cavanagh, we need to see Gabe. Is he here?" She asked firmly.

Corey hung behind her uncomfortably.

Mary stood aside, and Corey and Rachel walked inside the house. As Corey passed her, he greeted her kindly. "Hi," he said half embarrassed.

Mary's mouth twitched its way into a bewildered grin. "Hi," she responded shakily in a less than welcoming spirit.

Rachel took authority. She paced back and forth in the foyer, searching diligently for her deplorable one. Upon noticing Rachel's obvious distraction, Mary motioned sharply for her husband to tend to them. When Rachel turned to her, Mary resumed her polite demeanor. "We haven't see you around lately, Rachel dear. Has everything been okay?" Mary inquired graciously as her husband appeared at her side. "Hey Rachel. Long time no see."

Rachel marched up to them eagerly, "Where is Gabe?" She asked bluntly, disregarding their reverent formalities. She was here for one reason, and one reason only.

Mary took a dubious step toward her, unnerved by the girl's rigidness. "He's upstairs..."

Instantly, Rachel grabbed Corey's shoulder and forced him to the bottom of the steps. She looked at him with devastating candor. "Call your boyfriend," she demanded.

Corey looked at Mr. And Mrs. Cavanaugh apologetically, then eased his attention back to his friend. "Have you lost your damn mind? You're humiliating me beyond belief, Rachel!" He scolded firmly.

"CALL HIM!" Rachel repeated louder.

"CALL WHO?" Corey snapped, raising his voice to compete with hers.

"Call Chris."

"Why? What for?"

Mary and Martin Cavanagh shared a befuddled glance as the two visitors continued their argument.

"Do it!" Rachel blasted anxiously.

"No! You came here looking for Gabe, right? Why would you want me to call Chris?" Corey interrogated.

"Don't be difficult, Corey. Gabe lives here, okay?"

"Gabe lives here?"

"Yes!"

"Your Gabe?"

"Yes."

"How come I've never seen him before?"

"If you would just cooperate with me you'll see why, damn it!" Rachel fumed. For some reason, she thought this would be easier. Maybe Gabe would be a problem, but Corey?

Corey scratched the back of his head and gazed around, pondering his purpose here, and her unusual request. He felt eyes penetrating him from all corners of the room, he spoke quietly. "Can we leave?"

"Call him." she growled, and she wasn't kidding.

Corey took a deep breath, unable to forget that he was under constant supervision by Mr. and Mrs. Cavanagh and the rest of the clan. He felt silly, but he complied with Rachel's wishes just to shut her up.

"CHRIS?" Corey bellowed up the stairs. He gave the couple behind him a stiffened look. He wanted to die.

"Yeah?" A deep voice called from the dining room. Gabe's brother walked around the corner. "Someone call me?" Christopher Cavanaugh quizzed as he explored their faces. He was holding one half of a breadstick, the other half in his mouth.

Corey raised his eyebrows, "You're not Chris." He uttered perplexed.

Christopher stopped chewing, his eyes darting from his parents to this stranger. He seemed to be seriously considering the possibility of an identity crisis before finally coming to the conclusion that he was who he was. "Yes, I am."

Corey shook his head in humorous disagreement, "No. No, you're not."

"Yeah... I am," Christopher corrected.

"Uh... no." Corey informed otherwise.

Christopher cocked his head to one side, "Yes," he hissed in an upward tone.

"No." Corey continued, only now more unyielding. "Who are you?"

"Look, I have no clue what's going on here but you are not-"

Christopher interjected, "I am Chris, aren't I?" Mary and Martin hurried to support him. Mary stroked his arm, "Of course you are dear." "As far as I knew, son. Last I time I saw you..." Martin clamored as he put his arm around his wife's shoulder.

Just then, Gabe appeared at the top of the stairs. Angie peered over the side railing. Gabe watched his lovers from above. He cleared his throat so his presence would be known.

Rachel and Corey turned simultaneously to see him. Corey took one step up, relieved to see him but was shocked to see Angie lingering beside him. Both pale as ghosts.

"Chris." Corey said apprehensively, the situation becoming more daunting.

"What? Christopher answered behind him, taking another bite of his breadstick.

"Not you!" Corey barked, clearly peeved.

Rachel kept her eyes glued to Gabe, silently reviling him. She knew he could feel her scorching thoughts of detest. Castrating him.

"What's going on?" Corey asked, trusting that, without a doubt, Chris would untangle him from this ominous web.

Rachel leaned against the wall, folding her arms over her chest, "Yes, Chris, why don't you fill him in."

"That's not Chris, I'm Chris. I am!" Christopher debated before swallowing his food.

Gabe descended further, stopping on the step just above Corey, "No. Corey's right. I am Chris-"

"Then who's that?!" Corey slung his arm back and pointed to Christopher.

"Tell him the truth," Rachel seethed.

"I will...."

Corey studied the expressions of those around him. Their visible tension distressed him. He felt like he was still missing something. Frustrated by the disillusionment that occupied the empty spaces between them, and their impalpable intentions, he stepped down from Gabe.

Gabe filled Corey's previous step in an attempt to stay close to him. "I'm Chris to you, Corey."

"What?" Corey questioned, now more confused than ever.

"That means that Chris is not his real name," Rachel replied on Gabe's behalf.

Corey opened his mouth to speak, but no words formed. It took a good while for him to harness the ability to make sense, "Then... who are you?" He asked, feeling as though he were about to be made into a fool.

The whole room fell quiet. No one dared make a sound. By now, the entire Cavanaugh family had made their way into the narrow foyer, each one holding their breaths as if watching some trash T.V. talk show.

Gabe gazed up at all of them, understanding that he was about to mar the idol that his family gave him the credit of being. His sister Joy stood stone faced next to her husband Jimbo, who was digging at something too deep in his ear to reach. Christopher's chewing had slowed as he became more engrossed in the story playing out before his eyes. His wife gawked from over his shoulder, perhaps too frightened to get any closer. His parents were huddled together, their respective faces charred with concern. Then, his eyes found Corey below him, standing there waiting. No more lies. No more.

"I'm Gabe." Instinctively, he turned his head. He didn't want to see Corey's reaction. He didn't want to remember him that way.

Corey felt numb. As though his nerves had frozen under his skin. He couldn't believe this was happening. All the things Chris- Gabe had said to him over the past months had been a series of lies. All lies. And for what? To disgrace him? To mock him? No, it was all to elaborate. Why would Gabe risk all he had just to defile Corey. Most certainly, the only one bearing any shame now was him. Did he ever even like him? Had it been a joke?

Rachel turned her attention to Corey, "He's been with both of us at the same time. All of these months he's been playing us like a game of cards," she explained disgustedly.

Mary Cavanaugh's mouth dropped open. Martin Cavanaugh's eyes widened. They were both stricken with paralyzing shock. Had either one of them had a bad heart, this would have surely killed them. The last bite of bread fell from Christopher Cavanaugh's mouth. God forbid anyone sneeze, it would have knocked him over completely. His wife couldn't have caught him, for she was too busy clutching her chest, trying to control the arrhythmia she just acquired. Joy Cavanaugh threw her hand over her mouth, stupefied. Beside her, Jimbo curled his top lip up in absolute repulsion. His forehead wrinkled and the top of his bald skull began to look like a mountainous valley of blonde stubble.

Corey didn't know what to do with himself. His left hand came up to his pillow lips, then just above his brow, and finally over his ear, tucking his hair behind it. "Oh my God..." He whispered aghast.

Gabe went to touch him, "I'm so sorry," he said sincerely.

Corey withdrew from his hand, looking at him as if he must be crazy. Unwittingly, his stare rested upon Angie, who had taken stealthy steps down the staircase, gradually making her way to them. Now she stood directly behind Gabe.

"You knew?" Corey growled. For some reason, this conclusion had the the most impact. It was excruciating to think that his best friend would do this to him.

Angie nodded sadly.

Rachel closed her eyes, the second of darkness, privacy, soothed her combustible temper. When she opened them, she felt only slightly more subdued.

"You were my best friend. How could you know something like this and not tell me? Did you know all along?" She asked, ready to break down in tears.

Angie wiped her bloodshot eyes, "I found out after the Graduation dance. I wanted to tell you, but-"

"But what? What could possibly have kept you from telling me? Do you know what I did with him? I had sex with him, Angie."

Behind them, Gabe's mother sucked her lower lip into her mouth, releasing a loud whimper before burying her face in her husband's shoulder. Martin cradled her gently, "It's a forgivable sin, dear. It a forgivable sin." He consoled.

Rachel continued, "I gave him a part of me. Something I can't take back. How could you have let this go on?" Rachel may have been able to inhibit her pain from showing, but the tears that had collected in the corners of her eyes couldn't hold back any more, and like a flood, they sped down her face. Her mascara had smeared under her bottom lashes.

Angie pushed Gabe aside so that she could stand one step above Rachel. She knew this was going to happen, she expected it even, but nothing could have prepared her for it. Angie wept aloud as she did her best to explain herself. "I'm sorry Rachel. I know I should have told you. I know I was wrong. I was just afraid that if I told you, Gabe would tell Corey how I felt. I didn't want to ruin my friendship with him because of me. Gabe threatened to tell him. He said it would look like I was demolishing Corey's happiness because I was jealous. I didn't want to do that. Gabe said they were in love."

Mary Cavanaugh wailed harder.

"You did it because you were weak," Rachel lashed out. Her little infatuation with Corey was not enough to justify her secret. Not when they were dealing with real life issues. "It's no wonder you never had any friends, Angie. You're only interested in what benefits you. When it comes right down to it, you think you're the only one who matters."

"That's not true!" Angie objected pleadingly.

Corey felt a headache trying to generate. He sighed heavily and backed away the stairs, stopping in the middle of the foyer between the members of Gabe's family. The audience. "You're in love with me?"

At first she said nothing, she felt sick to her stomach. Her chin quivered. "Yes."

Corey wiped the beading sweat from his hairline. It was hot in this house. He was sure it was from everyone crowded into one small room. He pulled his hair back and held it there with his hands. "Let me get this right. You're in love with me. But you know I'm with someone who I obvious like to some degree. And you know for a fact that he's with my other best friend. Basically deceiving both of us. So, you help him pull off this fabrication to deceive us, and all because you're worried about how I'll react to your liking me? Excuse me for being cynical, but isn't that like worrying about watering your flowers when the house next door in on fire? You have the ability, the duty as my friend to extinguish the fire. Instead you tend to your flowers. You'll let me suffer because it was inconvenient for you." Corey muffled a laughter of contempt, "I was once worried about you having a low self-esteem. Now I see that you must be the most self-centered person I know. Next to him." He gestured toward Gabe.

His ridicule stunned her. He had never been cross with her before. How could he just forget all the times when she had exalted their friendship. When she had been there when he needed her. She knew she deserved to be punished for being a traitor, but did that automatically veto everything good she had done?

Gabe took the final step downward, directly in front of Rachel. They probed one another intensely, both immersed in a sea of memories, when they would hold each other, kiss each other. Those Sunday walks when they were the only two people on Earth and nothing could touch them because nothing else mattered but them. Seven years of togetherness. Seven years of trust and loyalty, totally obliterated. Their virginity, sacrificed to one another, her offering of love, his of confusion.

"Are you gay?" Rachel asked candidly, her fragility becoming more evident in her inconsistent expressions. Full of heartbreak.

"No!" Gabe quickly denied.

"Well, you could've fooled me," Corey spurned.

"I mean... I don't know," Gabe added.

Corey shook his head in disbelief. This was such a joke. He had no place here. He started toward the front door, "This is senseless. I'm leaving." He announced.

Gabe raced him to the door, beating him to it, blocking his path. "You're not leaving. You have to hear me out. Please Corey. Don't just walk away."

Corey, well reserved prior to this, was angered by Gabe's expressed boldness. "I've heard what you have to say. I've heard the whole thing. It's over. It's finished. You got caught. I don't care why you did it. I don't care about the specifics." He looked out toward the door, he was just inches from escape. "I don't care about you. Now if you'll all excuse me, I have someone waiting for me. Get out of my way..."

"Just listen to me. I care about you. I never meant to hurt you, okay? I did a stupid thing. I lied. I saw you through the telescope that night and you were crying, and I just wanted to know you were okay. I never intended to fall for you." Gabe forced words, any words that made sense, anything that might him sound less criminal from his throat, not realizing he was digging himself deeper.

"Telescope?" Corey replied curiously.

Rachel closed her eyes; her head fell back against the wall in disbelief. "He's got a telescope in his bedroom." She started up the steps.

Corey turned and followed her, as Gabe and Angie lagged behind. As they tore down the hallway, Gabe furiously fought to redeem himself.

"It's not what you think, Corey, I swear."

They charged into Gabe's room, Rachel leading the way. Corey saw the telescope sitting there, just above the window sill.

He stopped cold upon the sight, then slowly moved to it, kneeling. He peered through the eyepiece and found himself staring into his own bedroom. Unsettled by his findings, he stood erect, he held his breath, this muscles tensed. He had been watching him... all along. He turned sharply and began to run from the room.

Gabe grabbed hold of his arm in the doorway and tried to hold him back. "Corey, wait. I'm sorry!"

"Get off of me you sick fuck!" Corey screamed as he broke free of him and flew down the hall. Again, everyone followed him. Chasing him down the steps, across the foyer where everyone stood confounded. Corey threw open the front door and stomped off the porch. He saw Thomas waiting for him, perched on the curb. He heard the voices of everyone behind him, but his only concern was getting to Thomas.

Thomas heard the commotion and rose to his feet and turned to see Corey hurrying across the yard as Gabe, Rachel and Angie pursued. The sudden disturbance aroused him, even moreso when he saw Corey's face. "Corey, what's wrong?"

"Just- I wanna go home!" Corey asserted sternly, walking fast.

Gabe rushed up behind him, grabbing his arm again, spinning him around to face him. "Wait a second. I need you to know that I didn't do this to hurt you. It all happened by accident. I never should have lied to you about who I was. I never thought it would happen this way. I didn't think it was possible for me to fall for you like this. But I did."

"What do you want from me?" Corey asked shaken, "I don't know you." He pushed Gabe away, feeling dirty just having him occupy his space.

Rachel took her position next to Thomas. To see Gabe scurry to vindicate himself to Corey somehow made it all more concrete. Until now, it seemed to surreal, and though she knew it was true, a part of her refused to believe he would actually show his admiration for Corey in front of her. It defiled everything they once were, and the blatant disrespect pissed her off even more. Why was he floundering around like a fish out of water to please Corey? Shouldn't it had been her he was the first he attended to? Certainly, if nothing else, she had a lot more invested, and subsequently, a lot more lost. Corey was just a summer fling. They had a childhood, thousands of mutual memories.

Rachel felt her chest tighten. She had to ask. She had a right to know. "Did you have sex with Corey?"

Gabe turned to her, "No! I never did anything with him!"

Rachel looked at Corey for validation.

Corey rolled his eyes, "I said no."

Rachel slouched, her head falling forward in disbelief. Then she shot up again, standing erect, this time she was looking at Thomas. "You're Thomas aren't you?"

Thomas flinched from the sudden attention and modestly nodded.

Gabe stepped forward angrily, "He has nothing to do with this.

Rachel moved toward Thomas calmly. "Are you in love with Corey?"

Thomas was taken aback by her fixation with him. He was unsure of his locality in this fog of pandemonium. The forcible manner in which she addressed him gave him more than ample reason to answer without issue. Plus, it was true, and he would never hide it again. "Yes."

Rachel now spun to Angie, "And I know you supposedly love him."

Then she closed in on Gabe. She made a face, closing her eyes hard. She twisted around, calling into the night as loud as she could-

"AM I THE ONLY ONE ALIVE WHO'S NOT IN LOVE WITH COREY???"

Gabe lunged toward Thomas like a rabid dog, "You don't love him! You're a fuck-up. You don't even belong here!" He began pushing Thomas hard, asking for a fight, provoking him.

Corey stepped between them, returning Gabe's hefty push, "STOP!"

Thomas remained calm, "I don't give shit what you think of me, Gabe. I learned a long time ago that people like you were the ones to watch out for. The so-called 'good boys'. You just can't stand knowing that you're not better than me. You can call me anything you want. You can tell people that I'm a loser and a addict. It makes no difference. I take pride in the fact that I'm not like you. I didn't have the entire world handed to me on a silver platter. I took no liberties in anything. I know who I am. I know where I came from and I know where I'm going. You think you know it all. You want to have your cake and eat it to. You think you're superior to everyone else, and you're nothing more than a scared little boy who's been ripped off his throne and forced to look at the life from the underside of things."

Rachel put her hands over her face. She had now been fully degraded, yet, at the same time, she had separated herself enough from Gabe over the last few months, that it didn't abolish her the way she thought it would. It was almost a little satirical. She had always been a good girl. She plans on marrying her first boyfriend, the son of a preacher man. Then, he cheats on her with another man, who happens to be her best friend. She could've laughed out loud. What a story this would make. Her grandchildren should get a kick out of this one. She could hear it all now. A bit of scandal to satisfy the youngsters. At least it makes for an interesting history. She could use this as an icebreaker for future potential boyfriends. It sounded hysterical as it crossed her mind- "Hi. My name's Rachel. I think you're cute. Are you gay?"

As Rachel removed her hands, she could not help but smile. "I can't believe this." She smirked as she held up her arms surrendering, "This is just way too much. As far as I'm concerned Gabe, you've taught me well. I've learned my lesson. Now I'm going home." She announced as she moved past them.

Gabe stepped in front of her, not allowing her to leave. "You're not leaving yet. You have to understand why-"

Rachel slapped his arm away from her. Now she was irate. "Don't tell me what to do! Who do you think you are? I'm not you God Damn little rag doll anymore, Gabe. You can't just toss out demands and expect the world to fall at your feet. I may have been like that before, but not anymore. You're nobody. Got that? Nobody. You fuck people around and then expect them to praise you for a job well done. This is your first dose of reality, and I'm proud to be the first person to shove it down your throat." She leered at Angie through accosting eyes, "I was good to both of you. I would have never done this to either of you. But you guys have betrayed me in one of the worst ways possible. You two deserve each other." She was quiet for a moment. She watched Angie weep, and Gabe, fearing her next sentence, stood like a man in front of a firing squad. He had good reason to. "I hate you both."

She twisted on the balls of her feet and slowly began away. Gabe took a few shallow breaths as her words bore through him like bullets from a twelve gauge shot gun. It took a few moments before he realized he had eventually stopped breathing completely. Then, with his fury rising, he screamed at her. "How can you walk away so easily, Huh? You never cared about me to begin with. You never loved me, you loved the security I gave you!" He howled in detest, not of her, but of her ability to say the things she had.

Rachel stopped. It was like being stabbed in the back with a different knife in the same wound. She twisted around and came raging back up to him. "How could you say I never loved you!?" She cried as she pushed him hard, then slapped aimlessly at his chest. Gabe tried to hold her off, but she was stronger than he suspected. Finally she stopped. She trembled without realizing it. She had come unhinged. The part of her that she so desperately tried to dismiss, the part that still loved him, despite her trying to convince herself otherwise, had consumed her. She stared at him unscrupulously, her lips tight, eyes fixed, nostrils flaring from the uncontrolled breaths she forced outward. "I did everything for you. Don't you dare try to make this my fault. I take back what I said before. I don't hate you. I don't want to spend the rest of my life hating you."

Angie took a brave step forward to speak, "Rachel, please just-"

Rachel didn't let her finish. She held her hand, "Don't. Don't." She commanded in a foreboding tone, low and barely contained. She looked back to Gabe, "I am going to leave this place knowing that I am the better person. More human than you will ever be. For years I held you on a pedestal-"

Gabe tried to argue, "I never wanted you to hold me on a-"

"And I was wrong. I know that. I did a lot of things. I screwed myself over long before you did. But whether you know it or not, I don't need you to be happy. I have a real life waiting for me, and I guarantee you that I will be happy... happier, knowing that I left you behind. You lost this game, Gabe. You lost me. Come hell or high water, you'll learn that on the field of life there are no second chances. There will be no time out. No re-plays. You hurt people. You knew what you were doing. You've shown me that you don't know how to love. You don't even know what it is. For that I feel sorry for you. But everything you get, you deserve. You have to live with who you are and what you've done. Maybe someday you'll be intelligent enough to figure them out. I hope you do. Then you'll understand why this is Game over." With that, Rachel, now a pillar of might, strolled away with pride. She didn't bother looking back. She knew it was a needless act. In retrospect, she saw how all the little instances played into the big picture. The fight over Corey's book at the library. Why Gabe so amorously refused to meet him. The mascot hood he wore at graduation during his speech. The expanding distance between them. His questionable absences during the dances at school. The Fourth of July episode. His eagerness to run to Corey's aid, with Corey in the ambulance when he ignored her screams. His phobia of confronting her to explain why. Angie's reluctant interaction. Afraid she would give it all away. Amazing how the smallest details can be graphic symptoms of a more perilous underlying condition. Maybe, to some degree, she knew. She just didn't want to even ponder the possibilities. It was simply too much to accept. It would have required to much energy. It would have made her suspicious, jealous, and preoccupied with wonderments. Even when she found out, it hit her with the explosive power of a cruise missile. But, to her credit, she didn't deny it. She defeated it. Now she understood why her mother stayed with her father, turning a blind eye to the atrocities that occurred under her very nose. It wasn't the security. It wasn't fear of abandonment. It was the attempt at fitting into his world. Pretending he loved her, and her only. When you want someone so badly to love you, and they don't, it coerces you into taking an inward glance. You pick yourself to shreds trying to find the one little flaw that will tell you why. Rachel remembered doing just that when Gabe blew up at her last summer. Looking inside herself for the reason when really it had nothing to do with her. She was just the fall guy. It's all about feeling authentic. Did Rachel feel authentic now? Yes. Did she need anyone else to make her own ideas valid? No. She was alone, and she like it that way. She didn't need anyone to prove her own worth. She was her own proof. She took a stand, refused to be undermined, and never backed down. Not this time. Never again. Oh, how it freeing that was. Just to speak without cowering back. To scream and know it was justified. She hit him... even that felt great. For once she knew that she would be all right, and didn't require anyone outside herself to convince her of that. She was her own. No contending with another's worries. She could make her own way, and in the end, have only herself to thank. No finer reward than that of self-respect. Tonight she had walked away with just that. And the smile on her face testified so.

They watched her until she was just a speck against the shadows, until her figure could no longer be detected.

Thomas took Corey's hand, "Come on. Let's go," he said, feeling as though he were at the scene of a car wreck and gawking at the fatalities. They began walking off the road toward the sidewalk that led up to Corey's house. Angie couldn't say anything else. She couldn't beg, couldn't find any reason for any of them to stay. She had sacrificed her two best friends. She made some bad choices and they backfired. So, she was back to square one. She had come full circle. She was all alone, left only with a dark, incessant void. It was a familiar echo in her soul. She didn't recall it aching so badly before. The emptiness inside spread like a disease, draining her. For a short while, she had pulled from the oblivion she was in to the nurturing light of the sun. She had the best times of her life there. And then, suddenly, everyone was gone. Blackness had invaded her once again. It was the knowing of how it felt to be someone worthwhile that made the reappearance of the nothingness all the more painful. Her punishment was to be driven back where she came from. Exiled from those she loved forever. And it was all her fault. That understanding brought the worst agony. "Why? Why didn't I tell them?" Angie whispered to herself as Corey and Thomas vanished behind the door. "I fought so hard to keep everything right. I tried so hard," she sobbed, putting her hands over her face.

Gabe noticed the small sounds around him. They seemed louder than before. The wind had died. The fog had begun to lift. Soon all the nighttime creatures would sink into their dampened habitats and sleep the away the impending day, waiting for the fall of dusk. He imagined this day for so long. He knew it was coming. It would have been impossible to run from it. It was over. Rachel was gone. Corey was gone. It seemed strange that he found a certain solace in the finalization. He didn't feel so crowded inside. Although so much had slipped like sand through his fingers in the matter of hours, he was relieved it was now just a part of the past. Perhaps he was glad to be caught. Both Corey and Rachel were given their reprisal. They said what they had to say. Gabe had no exoneration, no excuse that rated forgiveness. He was paying his penitence. Never did he harbor such remorse in his life. Never had he lost so many that mattered so much... in one night. All because of a telephone call five months ago. A curiosity that transformed into an obsession. He just wanted them to love him. He fought long and hard to keep them, and he lost.

Rachel was right; he had gotten what he deserved. Nothing. Something he had heard not so long ago drifted through the epicenter of his brain, slowly becoming clearer. What was it Sophie had said to him beneath the table? He repeated it aloud, so Angie could hear. "If you love yourself, then you've won the battle. But if you're fighting for others to love you, then you've lost the war."

Angie looked at him through blurry eyes. "What?"

"She was right. It was like that I knew what I was doing. I knew it was wrong. I was asking for it. It was destructive. I knew I would lose them in the end... there was never any question about it. I knew I was hurting them and myself, and I didn't care. I didn't care." He muttered softly. "It all makes sense now. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, and yet I fought to make them love me. You know why?"

Angie gave him a queer glance, "No. I don't. I don't even know what the hell you're talking about."

Gabe took a large step toward her. "Why do people do something that they know is going to hurt them in the end? Why do they continue pursuing things that leave people torn apart?"

"I don't know."

"I was so busy trying to win over Corey and Rachel; I wanted them to love me. The entire time I was just destroying myself. It wasn't about wanting to hurt them, it was about hurting myself. I did this to myself. I knew what I was doing and I kept on doing because I knew that in the end I would lose it all. Understand?" Gabe raved passionately as he grabbed her elbows excitedly.

Angie recoiled, responding with nothing but slow facial distortions, accurately relaying her misgivings. It was bound to happen sooner or later. He'd flipped. With her shoulders lifted upward, her limbs stiff as a board in his grasp, she answered, "No. I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I've been fighting my entire life to win the affection of other people. For as long as I can remember I lived for other people. I've tried to please my family, being everything I was expected to be. I've struggled to please complete strangers. People I don't even know want me to be their leader, they cheer for me in the stands and they count on me to be something fantastic. I have no obligation to these people and yet I strive to meet their demands. I've lived fighting to win the love of others, hoping that I'm worthy of it." He released her along with a hopeless sigh. His hands fell to his sides, his head down. He was a fallen hero. A failure.

Angie found the same stance. They didn't speak for a while, and the vacancy of the air scolded them. Shame, regret. The dawn of so many emotions, all stirred together in a toxic awakening. "I understand what you're telling me, Gabe." She mumbled desolately. Her once chirpy voice now ridden with contrition, "You've had a lot to live up to. I used to watch you from afar, walking through the hallways at school, surrounded by your football friends and the popular girls. I envied you so much. I wanted that, I wanted to be a part of that. It was the perfect life. I thought you were invincible. I can see that I was wrong. I know how it feels to fight. That's all I've done for the last seventeen years. Fighting to be accepted, or at least acceptable. No matter what I did, or how hard I tried, no one cared. That's all I wanted. Someone to care. Someone to notice me. To everyone around me I was transparent. I was nothing. That's what they treated me like. A nothing. I started to believe it to. I actually let myself become what everyone else believed I was. A waste of space. They threw things at me in the lunchroom. Laughed at me on the street. Called me names. I was a joke to them. To you."

Gabe turned to her apologetically, "You were never a joke to-"

She quickly interjected, "Yes I was. Don't tell me I wasn't because there were many times you walked right past me shared a chuckle with your buddies. You pulled my skirt down in third grade so everyone could see the fat girls' underwear, just so you could be cool. For years you and people like you have taunted me, made me the underdog. Eventually, I started to consider myself that. I was supposed to fill that role. It was destiny, right? My good fortune. Everyone has their calling. Mine was to be your amusement. That's why I never talked back. I never defended myself or challenged your actions. Inside I felt I deserved it. It was who I was and forever would be."

Listening to her, being able to recall every instance she spoke of, made him writhe with remorse. There was never a reason for the things he had done to her, and that strangled him with condemnation. He was the culprit. The main instigator of all her grief. Again, he could offer no atonement. "I never meant to. I mean, I didn't-" He pressed himself to find something within that would give her peace. "I'm sorry."

Angie straightened her back, standing erect. Somehow, she obtained a subtle grin. "No, you're not." She informed benevolently, as though she had exchanged the anger she rightfully owned, for a more amiable approach. "I don't want you to be sorry. I'm not trying to lay a big guilt trip on you. I'm just trying to make a point. I allowed myself to become your prey. I took on the pretense of a victim. It's just like you allowing yourself to take on the expectations of everyone else. It just fall into your lap. Now, here we are. You, the golden boy who's finally seen that, sometimes you have to consider yourself before everyone else. If you had done that to begin with, you wouldn't have been so desperate to be loved by two people at the same time." She tossed back her head as the covetous breeze grazed her face, like warm hands touching her. "Then there's me, the invisible girl. I've found that I've spent too much time getting down on my hands and knees just so everyone around me can feel taller. Neither one of us were impressing anyone and in the end, we both lost. We developed these instincts that told us to struggle, even when we didn't have to. Corey and Rachel never placed expectations on you. You did. You had to such a jumbled view of things that, despite everything else, you had to make them love you. You just never paused long enough to see the damage you were doing. You became blind to it. In some sense it appears very cruel, insensitive and arrogant, but that's not what you are. Most would think I am just as irrational as you for not crucifying you for all you've done, but we have a lot more in common than I ever imagined. We're pathetic. We're a couple of screwed up kids who've had our concept of life scrambled by feelings of inadequacy. We're just looking for a place to belong. People to accept us without asking for more than we're capable of. That's why you lied to Corey about who you were. He gave you that, and you were afraid that if he knew the real you, he would become one of them. Your anonymity was your safety net. A way of letting the real you peek through the iron curtain that you live behind, without any strings attached. Finally there was someone who didn't place any stipulations on you. Someone who didn't want the superstar. You figured that if you let him down, it wouldn't be you he blamed. It would be Chris. You could have been the best and it still wouldn't have been enough. Not for you. You became so concerned with what being everything to everyone that you forgot the most important part of your life. You. Because of that you've ended up offering everyone you've loved as a burnt offering. So did I." Her eyes sparkled as the moon dipped below the treetops, illuminating her gaunt features. The dark circles were like crescents beneath them. Her hands were nestled against her breasts, tucked inside her oversized, knitted sweater.

Gabe knew exactly what she meant, and once again, Sophie's words raided his mind. "If you love yourself, you've already won the battle, but if you're fighting for others to love you, then you've lost the war." And he had.

Angie started to walk away, stopping briefly by his side in passing, "I'm glad you're going away. We can both start over in a place where nobody knows who we are. I'm going to leave the old Angie here is Sadie. I suggest you do the same. Find out what you really want. Who you really are. Find some security in yourself. Don't wait for someone else to give it to you." She regarded him in a way she never thought she would. Seeing him standing before her, a frightened child, just after birth. He was scared and vulnerable to whatever this world had to endow him with. He would miss this innate fabrication that Sadie, Connecticut and her unheeding citizens had eagerly posed. This had been his womb, and he grew here, nurtured by its goodness and the protection it supplied him. That had all been taken away, and starting on this night, he knew that. Angie didn't feel sorry for him. She didn't pity him. She just saw something in his eyes, something that had been missing before. The rein of conflict and confusion had ended. Now he was left to pick up the pieces. He had freed himself from restraint, from this simulated form of existence he had taken as his own. He was no longer the boy she had always known. Maybe she had played a role in his deliverance. Maybe he had wanted her to expose him all along. Whatever was going on inside of him, Angie was certain that Gabriel Cavanaugh, the high school hero, the community celebrity, would never be the same. The next time he stood on this black pavement, amidst this land of exquisite homes, lavishly landscaped yards, and lush green trees, he would be a changed man. He would return to this place some season in the not to distant future and revisit the events of this past summer. Perhaps then he would he see his own transformation. Now was only a moment in time, and it would pass just a fast as it came. She would always wonder what had happened to him, long after she left him here. For now though, she felt it best to let it all go. Standing here on this lone road made nothing easier. The earlier they parted, the sooner the healing could begin. With a westward glance, she continued on down the empty street, and then, like everyone else who had been there, she too was gone.

Gabe looked toward the wraparound porch of his house. His family was still standing there watching him. They had heard it all, witnesses to his fall from grace. He started up onto the lawn and crossed it slowly, examining their faces to determine their reactions. The all seemed to have the same expression of ambiguity. As he stepped up onto the veranda, he waited for one of them to speak, or reach out and grab him, whether to hit him, or hug him. He wished they would have but no one said a word. He walked into the house, up the wooden staircase and down the hallway, closing his bedroom door behind him.

seventeen

Emancipation

There was something in the air on that cool day in late August. The temperature had descended into the low sixties, and a steady chill had engulfed the village. One might guess that Sadie itself knew it was about to lose several residents and this wretched cold was a bite of resent. She was already mourning those who would leave her.

Warmed by the heaviness of his black leather jacket, Corey made his way up the cobblestone passage to Rachel's front door. He could hear the muffled sounds of the piano chords being struck somewhere within. He took the brass knocker into his first and struck it against the door three times. He put his hands in his pockets to shelter them from the brisk wind that seemed to collide with the house, scatter around the porch, ricocheting off anything solid, before finally escaping from the confines. He waited for the piano to quiet, that would be his assurance that Rachel had heard him. Only, the piano continued playing. It was a delightful tune, one that sounded familiar but he couldn't place.

He peered through the window adjacent to the door into the foyer. He could not see her. He knocked once more, harder this time with his fist. She still didn't answer. He took the doorknob into his hand and gave it a slight jostle. The door must have been ajar because it quietly swayed inward.

Corey poked his head around the corner, inspecting the surrounding. "Rachel?" He called softly, as not to frighten her.

The sounds of the finely tuned piano played on. It was a lovely song, and he hated to compete with it by use of his own voice. It would be sacrilege to pollute the flawless hums of the music with uninvited words. He stepped inside, making sure to close the door with ease. The first thing he noticed was the luggage sitting on the floor beside him. There were two suitcases with two stuffed duffel bags propped unsteadily atop them along with a tattered pink Teddy Bear. It was missing one eye and its ratted fur had faded with age. He knelt down and picked it up. Much like the owner, it was once brand new and confident in its beauty. Untouched by the dust and grime that tends to gather. Dirt usually always washes clean. Sometimes it stains, leaving a reminder of how it got there to begin with. Rachel, much like the bear, had seen hard times, been accosted by trials and tribulations, but they both had survived. She had undoubtedly had that bear since she was a little girl. Snuggled with it at bedtime. Cradled it when crying. Threw it when mad.

Corey tempered a giggle and placed the bear back upon the cases. He stood up straight and taking a few silent steps into the living room, he stopped just beyond the archway.

Her back was to him, so she was not aware of his presence. However, he was content just watching her, as her hands danced playfully across the keys of the piano. He was pleasantly surprised by her demonstrated expertise. The way her fingers undulated so masterfully, creating such a stunning harmony. It was almost bewitching. One could easily lose themselves in such a delicate sound. She could have been the Pied Piper in a past life. Her performance came to a gradual close, and her hands rested at her side.

Corey leaned against the cherry wood frame of the archway, smiling. "You're really good."

Rachel heard his voice, and yet she didn't turn to greet him. Not even with a welcoming grin. She thought that she should be happy to see him since it could be the last time, but she wasn't happy at all. It would seem that all that had transpired over the last month or so had driven a wedge between them, and the horrible revelation that occurred just last night had only driven it deeper, expanding the distance between them. She had no reason to be angry with him. It's not as if he knew what was going on. She knew he would take no active role in betraying her, but with him came the sadness and the memories of her past with Gabe. Corey represented the end of that which she strongly wanted to put behind her.

He was a little disheartened by her silence, though he didn't let it show. His only option was to somehow fill it. "I was worried about you. Your Mom came over to my house. Apparently she and my Father had some plans. She told me you would be here." It was as if the frigid air from outside had somehow breached the housing. He pulled the folds of his coat together awkwardly as he continued, "I knocked but you didn't hear."

"I heard you." She informed, just loud enough for him to hear.

He acquired that horrid sinking feeling. Okay. She heard him, but didn't want to answer. He got that much. But did she not want to answer specifically because it was him, or would she have ignored anyone who came.

The way she sat, still facing the opposite direction, not wanting to look at him, or even acknowledge his presence told him that she wished he hadn't come there. She acted as if he were a stranger. They were friends. He cared about her and would not stand to be written off like some casual acquaintance. "Are you angry with me?" He questioned hesitantly, afraid of the reply. "Honestly Rachel, I didn't know anything about-"

She raised her tone only slightly to stop him. "I know you didn't." Her voice trailed and then she fell silent again.

Corey hoped she would give him some clue that would explain her distance. However, that old bothersome emptiness occupied the space between them once more. She did not explain. She did not move. He lingered uncomfortably in the atmosphere she presented, not wanting to leave, but knowing he should. "What's happening here?" His chin tightened and his mouth turned downward into a frown. He had never seen her this way, and it caused him an insurmountable amount of anguish. To think that she would be leaving him, and she couldn't even bear to look at his face. "You don't want to be my friend anymore?" He asked in such a turbulent manner that, even upon hearing himself speak, made him want submit to his sorrow.

Rachel hung her head, folding her hands in her lap, watching her fingers come together. One tear manifested itself over her lash and fell onto her thumb. She wiped it dry with the other. "I can't look at you," she whispered, bereft of any consolation.

"Why?" Was all he could say without crumbling.

Rachel pulled down the wooden flap over the keys carefully. She closed her music book and leaned forward, propping her elbows on the stained surface. She held her hands over her mouth to conceal the insubordinate lament that blemished her face like a scar. She didn't want it, and yet no matter how she tried, she couldn't rid herself of the mark she had been left with.

Corey stared at her hard, attempting to strip away the thick layers that had ossified her in a dense shroud of embitterment. Everything that had happened seemed to toughen her exterior, making it all the more arduous to find the real her hidden beneath. She was in there, somewhere. It riled him, even to consider that the Rachel he loved so dearly was imprisoned within that tomb of hatred.

"What have I done?"

She did not answer.

Suddenly, he felt a swelling of anger. He had done nothing to deserve such treatment. He had loved her, cherished her friendship, and he his following words came directly from his inability to discern the source of his anger; whether it was her, or the events and made her this way toward him. Regardless, he believed she should not have allowed it to come to this. She should not have allowed herself to be so irreparably torn that even what they had shared would now be unsalvageable.

"I'm sorry about what happened. You have every right to be hurt. You can sit here and wallow in your pity and that's fine, but don't you dare hold me responsible." Corey shot, just to show her he could be just as unmerciful as she was.

Rachel jumped up hard, her legs knocking the piano stool back about a foot. Back she spurned like a tyrant, "You think you have me all figured out, Corey. You think that you know me, and you don't. You don't know me anymore. I'm not wallowing in the throes of misery like you assume. What is there to be sad about? You seem to have all the answers? Tell me? Gabe? You want me to cry over Gabe? A guy who treated me like shit on his shoes, then laughed behind my back while telling you how much he loved you? Is that it?" Her face burned with anger, "I have a lot more stamina than that. I'm not a weak little fledgling. I can handle myself."

Corey fired back, "If you're so strong then why are so defensive? I asked a simple question, all it requires is a simple answer, and you don't even seem capable of giving me that. I did nothing to you. I stood by your side and I was your friend. Why are you taking this out on me?"

She began to grind her teeth, her veins pulsating with anger, "I want to forget this. I want to forget Gabe, I want to forget Angie. They do not deserve to be a part of my thoughts and every time I see your face or hear your voice, I am reminded that he betrayed me because of you."

Her fierce admission stole his breath for a moment. Corey was held firm in the grasp of her sight, unable to move any part of his body. Finally, he shook himself free of her and took a step backward. "You're right Rachel. I don't know you anymore. I'm glad I don't because you're just as warped as they are."

"You were his lover, Corey!" Rachel shouted, "You were my boyfriend's lover. This may be difficult for you to process; I understand that because you didn't grow up here. You weren't around for the past eighteen years. You never saw how much I truly cared for him. How I depended on him. I'm not particularly proud of having been so- so needy, and even though I found my own feet to stand on, I still loved him. He was all I ever knew. This isn't California, where people drop in and out of your lives like formal guests. This is Sadie. We tend to apply a little more substance to our relationships. This is home to me. The people that I've seen on a daily basis for my whole life are home to me. That's how I feel. That may be a warped perception of reality to you, but you and me come from two different corners of the world. It's not so easy to just let go as if it never mattered. I've faced this thing dead on and it hurts. It really hurts. And whether you like it or not, you are a part of it."

Corey protested, "You're making me pay for what he did."

Agitated by his apparent blindness, his inability to see beyond the surface, Rachel found her patience wearing thinner. It wasn't that he couldn't understand that upset her so, but that he was mentally incapable of feeling what she was feeling. It seemed unfair, that she be the only one left to suffer the consequences of the immoralities of someone else. It seemed ongoing, like an ache that could be cured, but was not allowed to be. He was the salt in her wound. "What did you lose, Corey? Are you hurting? No. And you know why? Because you had nothing invested. You didn't share with him what I shared. You can walk away from this completely unscathed, right into the arms of Thomas, without ever looking back. You have nothing to hurt for because you lost nothing. Unlike you, I have no one to turn to. The one who was to comfort me is the one who violated me. Am I right?" She asked.

Corey broke their stare, not able to find his tongue to speak with. He shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands to his chest, only to let them fall limp once more. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, Rachel. What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me, Corey. Did you love him?" Though she never even twitched, her eyes ripped through him, determined to find an answer, even if he didn't offer one in words.

Corey would not lie to her. He knew that what he had with Gabe was incomparable to what she had shared with him for the better part of her life. Telling her was hard, because in some manner, it gave her argument credit. "No. I didn't love him."

"And you didn't sleep with him?" She drilled before his last word even finished.

"No."

"I did. I loved him... and I believed he loved me. So don't stand there and try to tell me that I'm crazy for wanting to cast it away from me. I have a right to. I may have been naive before, but I embraced my relationship with Gabe as something that was irrefutable. It was true. It may have had its peaks and valleys, but it was genuine. Then you came here, with your open minded views, spreading the gospel of the new world. You know nothing about the orthodox of this place. And then, the one thing that I treasured the most was compromised; it was proven false, and because of you. It wasn't by any fault of your own, but you're the harbinger, Corey."

Corey shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He had been called many things in his lifetime, but never a harbinger. He had never been accused of wreaking havoc in someone's life. He did understand Rachel's defense. He knew that over the last summer her entire life had changed. That she was tormented by the figments of her past. It must be so frightening... to suddenly realize that your story book life has come to an end, and you have been left unarmed to fend for yourself. Corey was sorry for her losses. He wished that he might find something to say that would ignite the fires of the girl he once knew. Bring her back. Yet, another part of him revolted, counteracting his compassion. No matter how the picture was painted, he was still being persecuted for Gabe's actions. This alone infuriated him. He was fighting a losing battle. Somehow, he had been the consort of her deceivers.

"I'm sorry I shattered the glass walls of your little palace, Rachel. I didn't intend on coming to Sadie just to reveal the falsities, or throw the errors of your trustful ways in your face. I didn't want to come here at all. The only thing that made my life tolerable was knowing that...-" He began to cry. He never imagined that he would have to struggle to keep her, "-that you were my friend. I know that this is really difficult for you. That's why I'm here. I don't claim to be on equal ground as you right now. I know that you've lost so much more than I have. But, just because you don't feel that I've endured enough pain because of this, don't take away your friendship from me as punishment."

Rachel sighed unforgivingly, "Is that what you think I'm doing, Corey? Punishing you? Jesus! Could you just stop thinking about yourself for one second! I don't hate you. I don't hold you responsible. You just portray a part of my life that has proven ill-fated. I need to have confidence in myself, and I can't do that knowing that you were there when I fell. I can't move ahead holding on to someone who represents so much pain. Got it? That's all there is to it. I don't want your help, and I don't want you to be sorry..." A moment of silence manifested, and before it could be regarded as a break in the tension, she finished it... "I just want you to go away."

Exasperated, Rachel turned toward the window watching the leaves drift one by one from their branches. She knew that she was being cruel, and while it conjured up feelings of remorse, she knew it was necessary. The old Rachel still dwelling inside, pushed far into the shadows of her mind, wanted to cry with him. She wanted to hold him in her arms and weep, and know that it was okay. But she was overpowered by the new Rachel, the one that had seen far too much to go unaffected. She couldn't go backward. She wouldn't let the vulnerability show. Never again would she put herself in the position to be laughed at, or victimized.

Corey was thunderstruck by her impertinence, by her uncaring readiness to dispose of him. This fed his anger. "You're not harming anyone but yourself." He said, the sentence flowing from his mouth without any hint of disruption that would insinuate his stirred emotion.

"I'd rather have the privilege of harming myself than giving someone else the chance to do it for me. At least now I won't have to question why." Immediately after saying it, she had begun to wish she hadn't. Though it was the honest truth, it would make her look feeble. Already she was letting someone get to close. The few seconds that followed passed like years. Again, the silence bit at them like a rabid beast, threatening to tear them limb from limb if they dared challenge it with utterances. Somehow it had an awareness here, like it was gaining strength with each sterile moment. There is no worse enemy than an unwelcome silence. It has an unadulterated power, leaping at words, sending them back into the throat where they remain unspoken.

Corey felt he had too much to lose allow the silence to render him mute. If he would have just walked away from her, the regret would haunt him, she would haunt him. If there was one thing he had learned in Sadie, it was that more ghosts lived here than people. Rachel was a ghost now. The result of all that had fallen away. Seeing her this way sent a shiver of dread over his flesh. The last thing he wanted to do was leave this place with a demon on his shoulder, so he said all there was left for him to say. "I understand. If you feel that, every time you look at me, all you'll see is the blade that severed your lifeline, then I'll go. I just have one more thing to say. I think it's the best thing I could have done for you. Maybe, from now on, you'll be able to stand without crutches and you won't be so quick to blame everybody else when you fall. Just start watching where you step." He didn't wait for a response before he found his way to the door and left her behind.

He did not see that Rachel had come after him. Only a few feet behind, by the time she got to the open door, Corey was halfway across the lawn, still walking.

"Corey!" she bellowed, her rumbling voice barreling through the air like a freight train. Startled birds fluttered from their nests, unsettled by the sudden shatter of serenity.

Corey stopped dead, slowly pivoting on one foot which, unlike the rest of him, instinctively wanted to return to her. He didn't. He recognized that voice, but the woman it belonged to was a stranger.

Rachel, grounded in her looming stance, adorned with a curt expression, found the reins of her dominance, and she used them. "Don't ever come back."

Without a rebuttal, Corey continued on his way. The once abhorrent gouge that had left them each standing on opposite ends of a broken land was no longer the object of his hatred. Now, it was a divider of purpose, one he greeted with pleasure. He didn't want to be close to her. Not now, not ever again. As far as he was concerned, his friend was gone. All that remained was this ghost, this foreign soul thriving in the body she once resided in. The Rachel he knew would never say such awful things to him. This spontaneous deduction, one made in a frenzy of mangled thoughts, was all that would present him with enough confidence in his decision to walk away, and not have her memory follow him. He did not know her anymore. He was delighted he didn't. This alien meant no more to him than he did to her.

It was an attempt to lessen the value she held in his life. To separate the one he loved from the one who so voraciously rejected him, to regard her now as two distinct entities. One he loved. One he loathed. It was the only way he could forgive her... and forget her.

Back inside the empty house, on the landing at the turn of the staircase, Rachel stood unmoving. The undeniable breaking of her already fractured heart, made for an infinite sadness, one so treacherous, she believed it would never leave her. Unlike the people she had ordered away, this hole inside would not dissipate, it would not go as easily. It only made her conviction in her decisions more trying. Should she have let Corey stay? No. No, it was best that he was gone. It was all for the better. No more Gabe. No more Angie. No more Corey. No more lies. Betrayal. Fear. Confusion. It had left with them. And just as they had passed in and out of her life, so would this intolerable pain. After all, by her own experience she knew that nothing lasts forever. Nothing.

Gabe sat in the dark, on a pile of boxes in the corner of his bedroom. He seemed in a daze, with his head back against the wall, his arms resting loosely across his legs. The pictures and posters had come down from the walls. His clothes had been emptied from the closet. Everything he owned had been stuffed into random cardboard cases scattered across the hardwood floor.

Though the giving sun was spreading it luminescence throughout the countryside, he chose to shut it away. His shade was pulled over the window, guarding him from the brightness. The few thin rays that escaped through its eaves had been successfully intercepted by the drapes before reaching his eyes. It was like a cave. His breathing seemed to echo off the cold surfaces of everything bare. The walls. The floor. The surface of his chest of drawers. Any movement was somehow magnified a thousand times, so he tried to stay perfectly hushed. He liked it better that way. So quiet. So still.

In a way he wanted to preserve this solitude, deem it holy so no one would dare compromise it. Not with the thudding of footsteps or the incessant ramblings of voices meant only to fill vacant airspace. Always saying so much, and yet saying nothing at all. The receiver hearing every flux of the spoken tone, but uncomprehending. Just noise... all white noise. Perhaps the most significant sound of all is that of silence. Certainly it is the most beneficial. Just imagine, being all alone in an empty room, with nothing but your thoughts. It allows an inward examination of everything you are, and all the mediocre objects that create your internal atmosphere. It doesn't matter so much what you've hung on the touchable walls of your house. More importantly, what you have hung on the walls of your heart. What portraits adorn your memory? What emotions do they stir? Do they symbolize the happiest moment of your life, or the saddest? Do they rouse a smile, or conjure a tear? As these thoughts set adrift on the waves of his mind, Gabe found that a profound melancholy had overwhelmed him.

In his quiet searching, he saw that nothing he had achieved in his life met him with the degree of satisfaction that he so yearned for. They were drowned out by the grim reminders of his failures that were simply to defiant to be locked away. Most harrowing was the conclusion that he had failed himself, and had only himself to blame. All of these years, years he could never reclaim, were gone. Time, when he should have been trying to find who he truly was, had been wasted. Wasted on being what everyone wanted him to be. The town hero. The prodigal son. The perfect boyfriend. Always wanting more. Never really gratified. Desperately reaching out to others to fill the unexplainable void that plagued him. A void, not left by anyone who had gone, but by him. He had abandoned himself. "I'll have to start all over... from the beginning." He thought. It would be the only way to find the man inside that he knew was there. It would do no good to pick up from where he left off. To try and push the wreckage aside and sift through everything he'd learned, every question he'd asked, every wish he had, every idea or perception of the way he believed things were. There was too much to dig through. The only way to find himself was to begin again, without any one to distort his view, or mold him into their version of what's right.

From this point on, he would have to play it by ear. Be his own educator. Make his own decisions. Find strength in his own reasoning without needing someone else to verify or authenticate it. He didn't have to meet anyone else's standard. He had to live for himself. It was a rebirth. A clean slate. The first step he would take would be that of distance. A detachment from everything familiar. Now, everything foreign would be his teacher. New faces. Fresh opportunities. And nothing of old to remind him of where he came from, or who he once was.

Just then, a gentle knock came to his door. Though barely audible, it called his attention toward that direction. He watched as his mother gradually appeared from the other side as it slowly opened, stopping only when the knob touched the wall behind it.

"Gabe?" She summoned timidly, as if unsure if it was him she saw in the shadowed corner. Her high pitched voice almost made it as though nothing had ever happened. It was sweet and floated to his ears like the song of a bird.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Uh-huh..." Gabe answered.

She waddled past the frame and closed the door quietly, shutting them both inside. She turned to him and didn't say anything for a few seconds. She took a step toward him, surveying the blackness. "It sure is dark in here. You got a headache?" She queried as only a concerned mother would.

Gabe pressed his head back against the wall. "No."

"Oh... well... wouldn't hurt to open the blinds then, right?" She chirped as she moved to the window, taking the cord into her hand to draw it up.

Gabe jumped forward to stop her, as if the sunlight would melt him. "NO!" He yelped abruptly then recoiled apologetically, "Don't... please."

Mary stopped cold, startled by his sudden demand. She couldn't see his face, but the sound of his voice troubled her.

Easing back into his makeshift seat, he realized it was unnecessary to be so adamant over such a silly thing. Apologetically, he shifted in his position. "I just prefer it closed. It's easier to think in the dark."

Needing no further explanation, Mary retreated from the window. She stepped toward the bed, carefully avoiding the scattered stuffed boxes. She nested herself into the feather mattress of the bed, her feet barely touching floor. She had so much to say, and yet she couldn't make sense enough of the questions to ask them with any assurance. Despite this being her son, she felt abnormally inhibited. Mostly because this was the very first time she had been confronted with such sensitive topics. Even when someone's standing was in question; it was often talked about outside their hearing range, and usually frivolously. Alleged facts were alluded to. Never stated. And never before had they dealt with someone so close to her. Someone she would have to defend. It was quite the predicament for Mrs. Cavanaugh. The woman who, even on the rarest of occasions, wouldn't even think a taboo thought without rushing to repent. She had always been a righteous woman; no one who knew her would deny that. Her heart was of a kind nature. Probably, the worst thing she'd ever engaged in was a bit of idle gossip with the geese of the neighborhood. It was meant for their own amusement, not to incur harm on the subjects of their ritualistic discussions.

Something about the wonderment of another life outside her own fascinated her. Not knowing the truth, just speculating, made it more absorbing. It was an innate reaction, having grown up in this tiny world of Sadie, unaware of others in a most ignorant way. New people were like a breath of fresh air in a clouded room. She never expected to have something like this touch so close to home. Stress was not even in her vocabulary, except when too many guests showed up for the Christmas dinner, and there was not enough food. This was real, and a woman of her limited means, and lack of skill, didn't exactly know how to cope. To an outsider, it would seem odd that she could muster the courage to come to someone in peril. Even if it were her own child. It was new territory for her, and she hadn't before encountered such an obstacle. Prior to this moment, everything had been easy. It was a tragic blessing, for it had left her unprepared... unqualified.

Mother. The very term epitomizes humanity. How much more human can one be if they've known the beauty of sharing their body with another. An unequivocal love, unsurpassed by anything impressed by outside influences. God made Mothers to give nature a voice. This was the awakening of instincts, as Mary realized that, no matter what was raging inside Gabe's head, he was her son. She loved him no less than before, nor would she ever. She didn't care what the neighbors twittered about, or what misconceptions people would have. She had this starving need to know... to help. "How come you never told me?" She asked.

"You wouldn't have understood," he whispered immediately.

"You didn't give me the chance. It doesn't matter whether I understand or not, I would have wanted to help you."

Gabe leaned forward, his head down. "It's too late now."

Mary studied his posture, the way he hung in the corner like a forgotten fixture of their household. It deeply saddened her to see him this way. She felt that she should have known something was wrong. They had always shared a strong bond, how could she have not. "It's only to late when you've given up. I haven't given up on you. I want you to tell me what I can do... tell me how I can help you?" She pleaded, unwilling to allow the notion that they had grown apart. To her, it was an asinine thought. She wouldn't let it happen.

Gabe peered up at her from under his thick brow. He saw the desperation, the inherent love pouring from her eyes. After all she had seen the night before, even after all she knew, she was trying so hard. She still loved him. He moved from atop the boxes and sat down on the bed next to her, taking her hand. He said nothing, but began to tremble as he stared at her. His eyes sparkled as they grew heavy with tears. Subtle, pained noises escaped him as he attempted to restrain, but he was weakened. He was crying.

She wrapped her arms around him, enfolding him in an embrace only a Mother can offer. Pulling him close to her, she caressed his back gently, wishing she could somehow share his burden, take his suffering away. It struck her as unnatural that she couldn't. The helplessness that presented itself ravaged her. All she had were her words, "It's okay, baby... it'll be okay." She rocked him as though her were a newborn as he wept, she nestled her nose into his hair and kissed him, holding her lips there, holding him tighter.

"Hi, this is Thomas Bradford calling. I was just wondering if you guys had arrested my Father again?" Thomas asked casually, as one does when asking the same question for years. Between his own past interludes with the Sadie Policed Department, and his Father's all too common DUI's and disorderly conduct raps, he had assumed a natural report with all of the officers. Knew most of them by their first name. Not much to brag about, given that there were only three active cops in the entire county.

Today he was talking to Sadie's only female police officer, Ninette Widman. He could remember the bizarre reactions of the local residents when she joined the force. Everyone believed she was about to give PMS a new name. Word of mouth spread fast about her new occupation and rumor had it that the members of the local Men's League were petitioning the town council to have her removed from duty. It was something Thomas just heard in passing. Couldn't even remember where.

After leaving him on hold for a good thirty seconds, Officer Widman returned to the telephone, "You still there, Thomas?"

Thomas walked to the window and drew back the curtains, peering out into the yard, "Yeah, I'm still here," He replied.

"I checked the log sheet and we don't have any arrests listed. I'm sure if he would have passed through here I would have noticed. Maybe he's somewhere drying out," She offered, half laughing at the idea.

"Maybe." Thomas retorted seriously.

His Father had been gone for two whole days now, and while it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to suddenly become absent like this, Thomas always knew where to find him. Jail. The fact that he wasn't there seemed to disturb him more than if he would have been. "Thanks Ninette. I guess I'll keep waiting for him. If one of you pick him up, call and let me know, Okay?"

"We always do, Thomas," She sighed.

"Thanks." Thomas hung up the cordless phone and lingered in the curtains, half hoping that his Father would drive up. He could barely remember the last thing they said to each other. What he did recall was, that he left right after the inbred missionaries. But, his last words remained vague. He knew that Thomas was angry. Perhaps that frightened him. Maybe he went to some hotel to straighten out his head. Or, just as likely, maybe he went to some hotel somewhere to get sloshed. Wherever he was, he would be back soon, even if just to send Thomas off.

His Dad may have been a pathetic excuse for a parent, but Thomas had always felt that, deep down inside of him, there was a flicker... a undeniable ounce of fatherly love. Something told him that his father would come home to say good-bye. Especially now, since he claimed to have seen the light, or whatever. If he wanted so badly to fix the past eighteen years, reconstruct the ruins of their relationship, he would be there. Never before had he ever wanted anything more. No wish, nor prayer had ever been so strongly imprinted on his heart, as the one asking for his Father's return. Thomas did love him, even more than he believed he should. That brutish man was all he had ever known. It would be impossible not to love him. And it was because of this anomalous love, that Thomas knew his father had to love him too. Even if he didn't want to.

He would wait there, standing in the large living room window. Possibly even rest his weight in the oak sill if he grew weary. But he would not leave that space. It would be his Father's face as he came up the walk, not knowing Thomas was watching from beyond the scratched pane, that Thomas would take away with him. Undoubtedly, it would be sweetest memory. He waited until dark, watched the sun fade into soft pastels and slowly drench the street in black. He watched as the outside lamps lit up simultaneously. He listened to the Grandfather Clock announce each hour as it came and left. Though he was hungry, he had no appetite. It came in strides and then ebbed again, and he would forget about food altogether.

It was just after nine o'clock when Lola Collier's last client left. It was a younger woman with hair the color of a corn silk, and a petite frame. Lola escorted her to the Red Minivan parked on the curb. They had a brief conversation, laughed at something funny, and the girl proceeded to kiss her twice, once on each cheek before leaving. Lola, with her crooked hand high in the air, bid her farewell, even though the girl was soon to far away to see her. She lowered her hand and glanced up at the sky, the cool air tickling her nostrils as she drew it in, replenishing her senses.

On this night, she was dressed in a long, silk, white gown. From her collar spilled a shimmering lavender sash which was wrapped once around her neck. Both ends hung over her shoulders, climbing down her back to her ankles. It was so strange, as she stood there on the edge of the street, afloat on invisible gusts of wind, how she adjusted her head just slightly, and stared directly at Thomas. It struck him as peculiar the way she seemed to know he was there all along. Like some supernatural awareness drew her to him. She smiled and motioned for him to come out.

Thomas broke from his stone cast and walked out of the house, across the lawn and into the street where she met him halfway. The first thing that called his attention was her overly painted face, accentuating every crevice of her worn skin. It was as if she purposely promoted her wrinkles, not as a sign of age, but of longevity and pride. It could have been just vanity, only she knew. Despite the reasons, it was typical Lola fashion. Supremely ostentatious.

"Ohhhh, young Thomas." She declared as she held out her hand for him to take with his own. "I have been wondering about you. I must say, I was a trite disappointed when you didn't come back to see me."

Thomas grinned, "I'm sorry. I've just been so busy. I'm leaving for school in the morning and it's proven to be a very hectic process."

Lola tossed her head back dramatically, "Oh, of course. Well, since you'll soon be leaving me I insist you come in and have a drink. We'll toast to your impending future." Without waiting for agreement, she began dragging him up to her house. She talked the entire way. "I was tempted to pay you a visit. I was hoping to find out how your situation unfolded. It's not polite to leave a woman dangling in anticipation. It's just like writing a great symphony and never finishing it. The imagination cannot compete with the beauty of truth. Good or bad."

She opened her door and shuffled into the house. She released him from her dominating grasp and hurried to the bar in the corner, leaving him to tend to himself. She didn't offer him a seat, nor instruct him in any manner.

Hoping he was not being to obtuse, he took a seat on the chaise lounge. Lola took two shot glasses from beneath the counter and placed the on the surface. First, she poured herself a glass of vodka, downed it, slammed it back down, smacked her lips together savoring every drop then poured herself another, all before addressing him. "What can I get you, darling? I have vodka, whisky, and, if you're feeling very unpoetic, I believe there's even a bit of beer in the refrigerator. Pick your poison."

"I'll just have some water... if you don't mind," he answered hesitantly, as not to appear rejecting of her offer, or snobbish.

She gave only a blank look, and then nodded in acknowledgement. "Water it is!' She said, reaching for a crystal bottle, emptying the contents into a shot glass. Only Lola would serve water in a shot glass. As she pranced across the marble floor, holding it outward, she spoke. "So, my dear, tell me about this love of yours. Did you tell him?" She pried as he took the drink from her, and she floated down beside him.

"I did."

"And?" Lola pressed.

"And then..." An enchanted expression appeared on his face. He was reliving that evening, every moment resurrected with pristine clarity. He gazed at Lola with a humble grin. "He told me."

Lola clapped her hands in explosive delight, "I knew it!" She declared ecstatically. She flew up from her seat, raising her arms to the sky in praise, "I knew you could do it!" She leaned down toward him, wrapping her arms around him, giving him a congratulatory kiss on the head as she held his face in her hands. She looked into his eyes, as if she could see through them to his soul.

"You have conquered the fates, Mister Thomas."

"What?" He asked, able to smell the vodka on her breath she was so close.

"People believe that the fates are working for them, but what they do not know is that fate is a great deceiver. The Ancient Grecians believe that every man born unto this world belonged to the fates; that every soul was destined for a tragic ending, the ultimate being death. The Fates are an evil trio of deadly maidens thought to have been here before time even existed. They can tempt you, and mislead you; they guide all men to sorrow. Little do they know how truly weak they are, for the gift that goodness bestowed was that of iron will. For many that will lies dormant and we become subservient to a secret calling, unaware that we can break free. You did it, Thomas. You beat them. You have won." She rejoiced quietly.

For reasons unbeknownst to himself, Thomas understood what she was saying. That people unwittingly give into fate; accept it as their own, when the odds seem to be against them. And just as testified in his own case with Corey, he was led astray from the true possibility by what he interpreted as something beyond his reach. Something to good for him. Even when, the entire time, Corey felt the same way. It would have been easy for Thomas to remain unheard, oppressed by a deceptive circumstance. One created by the fates. And then, on that night, when Corey appeared in his room, Thomas knew he would not let him leave without telling him he loved him. It was as though he had torn himself away from the inherent fear what may have been, and he spoke words that, by fate's wishes, wouldn't have been spoken otherwise. It was just a matter of swimming against the current. Walking into the wind. Taking a chance in lieu of letting the chance be taken away... by a fate we accept as unchangeable.

Lola continued exuberantly, "There's a difference between fate and destiny, Thomas. Fate is something already created. Destiny is something we create ourselves. Fate is the path already paved. Destiny is the choice to get off that path and make our own." She stood erect once again; "Remember that," She ordered as she swooped around and settled near the phonograph in the corner.

Thomas was astounded by the idiosyncratic honesty he found in her words. To anyone who didn't know her, the message relayed would be blindly accredited to age, or mental anguish. But Thomas knew that this grand woman knew secrets that nobody else knew.

Lola positioned a new record over the spindle, "If I had been aware of that fifty years ago, I would have made something of my life. Instead-" She took a cigarette and placed it in the long holder, lighting it, then exhaled dramatically, "I gave up my first love, married men who I believe in, and each time got kicked in the teeth. Now look at me. An old woman... alone... surrounded by trinkets of my past, the treasures of wealth, and I am not happy. I do not remember... what that's like anymore." She cradled her bosom, drifting away, trying to regenerate a feeling that had evaded her. She must have done this thousands of times. Observed a moment to remember, and yet each time, she failed.

Thomas rose to his feet and moved across the room to stand with her, "I think you're wrong Lola."

Shocked by his objection, she could not immediately retaliate. Instead, she laughed awkwardly, and caroused over to the bar again, "I have lived plenty of years to know the difference between what makes one happy, and what does not."

Thomas stayed by the phonograph, watching her intensely, "You know a lot of stuff. I'll give you that. But, I don't think you as unhappy as you believe you are. I just think that you've forgotten how."

This rang true to the woman, especially since it had been years since she was veritably happy. She went from marriage to marriage, lover to lover, country to country, searching for that which seemed so far. She had spent so long hiding in attics, obliging the demands of others to actually sprawl on her own blanket of splendor. Not since she had been a girl had she been so filled with joy. "Well then, my child, why don't you tell me how then?" She said condescendingly, pouring herself her drink.

"Your music makes you happy. Dancing makes you happy. Sharing it with others makes you happy. This life that has brought you here makes you happy. You can dance, you can do whatever you want, and there's no one to tell you that you cannot do it. You don't have to hide... anymore. That should make you happy."

She thought hard for a moment, the innocence in his voice could draw a woman to tears. She stepped back toward him, a pleasant grin offered in appreciation of it. "You are wise beyond your years, kid. I look back at my life and see all the things I would have done differently. Knowing that I will never have the chance to do that has broken me inside. I'm never going to find love; it's too late for that. I shall never have children, or grandchildren. I always wanted a son. I would have wanted him to be just like you," She caressed his hair, "Strong and handsome. Kind hearted with a perseverant spirit. You could be the child I never had, Thomas." She tilted her head and studied him closely, as if trying to locate some physiological feature she recognized as hers.

"Well, you have me now," Thomas stuttered, hoping it hadn't sounded too absurd, "I- I never had a mother."

And it was at that very second that they decided to be to each other what had previously been denied. Mother and son. It was an agreement sealed not with words, but an embrace.

"I will be happy, now." Lola said, experiencing a resurgence of that old feeling.

"Me too," Thomas replied.

Lola removed herself from his hold and moved back toward the bar, her cigarette ashes dropping carelessly as she walked, leaving a trail behind her, "I will be happy with my new son, with my music. My life will be happy. BOOZE, makes me happy." She decreed spryly. As she sorted through the bottles at the back of the bar, she glanced out the window above it and saw Corey walking off of Thomas' lawn.

She turned to him curiously. "There's someone outside."

"Who?" Thomas asked.

Lola twisted back toward the window. "Someone leaving your yard. A dark haired child."

"It's him. It's Corey! I want you to meet him!" Thomas announced as he raced to the front door.

"Well, I want to meet him!" She retorted, as though insulted that he would think otherwise.

Thomas pulled open the door and hurried out onto the porch, grabbing hold of the pillar to balance himself above the wooden steps. "Corey!" He wailed into the night.

Corey, having already passed Lola's house on the opposite side of the street, turned to find Thomas. He saw him standing there, on the fourth and final step of Lola Collier's porch. For a few fast seconds, he thought nothing of it, and he started in Thomas's direction. And then suddenly, he came to a jolting halt. It was not all that terribly long ago that Thomas had informed him of that woman. The murderer.

"Come here, I want you to meet someone!" Thomas requested.

Corey stood solid, not making any progression toward his lover. It was like his feet had been welded to the street. What was Thomas doing there?

"Why don't you come here?" He asked innocently, trying to seem uninfluenced by the stories he'd heard.

"Just come over here." Thomas insisted excitedly.

Okay. He would walk to the bottom of the steps. No further. Then he could be assured a good head start in case he had to make a quick getaway. He knew he wasn't in good shape, but he was positive that he could outrun an old lady. He hoped.

With careful, stealthy steps, he inched closer to Thomas, before finally standing below below him. "Uh... What- What are you doing?" He inquired nervously.

"Come inside. Lola wants to meet you." Thomas prompted.

Corey didn't answer right away. He lingered there, pinching the legs seams of his jeans at his sides. He leaned over and peered into the open doorway behind Thomas, "C- Can't she come out here?"

"Oh, don't be a chicken!" Thomas laughed as he reached down, grabbing Corey's arm, yanking him up the stairs, dragging him into the house. He slammed the door and took the more passive approach by holding Corey's hand. He did not bother looking at his face. If he had he would have seen nothing but sheer terror. Poor little Corey. Wide eyed and flush faced. He could not say anything contrary to Thomas's boldness, for he was already at ground zero. At least Thomas could have left the door open. Corey now wished he would have taken track in school.

"Lola, this is my Corey..." Thomas introduced proudly, as he pushed Corey in front of him for unobstructed observation. The same words shuttled through his mind. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"

Lola slowly traipsed toward them, blowing out a puff of smoke. She looked him up and down, and back up again. Corey was waiting for her to pounce. Her very demeanor frightened him beyond means. Her heavy make-up looked like a crispy mask of sundried skin. Now he knew what happened to Baby Jane!

She touched his face with the tips of her fingers, bending downward a little as to meet him eye to eye. As most everyone who wanted to look at him that way had to. He was only five foot four inches.

He couldn't help but stare back at her. He wanted to know what she was going to do to him.

She pushed back a strand of hair from his shoulder, "A boy too beautiful," She remarked, as if he were behind a glass wall, and would not hear it. "And those eyes. Black as a midnight sea. Eyes that have seen far to much to belong to such a beauty."

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" He held his breath.

"Do you like to waltz?" She asked, suddenly speaking to him, instead of about him.

"I- I don't know how," Corey stuttered. The question came entirely from left field. Her ability to segue from one subject to another without falter seemed well practiced. There was something about her that laid his squandering fear to rest. It could have been her unintentional affability, or the susceptive smile she readily displayed. It was as if he were a long, lost friend, and she was welcoming him back to her. There was no customary 'Getting acquainted' regime.

She took him by the hand and led him across the floor toward the phonograph. "I was just about to put on some music. I hope you like music."

"Yes," Corey answered, now absolutely comfortable. He took inventory of his surreal surroundings. The high, muraled ceiling. The improvident decor. The portraits, the statues, the bookshelves, and the lights, they all seemed to have a naturalness here. Anywhere else it would have been outright gaudy, but here, it fit just perfectly. "You have a nice place," Corey complimented as he wandered away from her to the center of the room. He glanced down to the floor and saw himself staring back. It mirrored his awe. "I can see my reflection in the floor."

As Lola turned the crank on the side, she hollered over to Thomas, who stood on the other side of the room. "Hit the lights, babe. I feel like dancin'!"

Thomas hurried to the light switch and, even before Corey could look up at him, the entire house went pitch black.

He listened carefully as the record began, scratchy at first, then smoothing out. Have always had an eclectic taste in sound, he immediately recognized it as Pachelbel Canon in D major. Though it wasn't a part of his personal collection, it had been the entry selection for his Cousin's wedding. The heavenly music streamed through the air, casting a spell on everything in its listening range. Corey let himself be carried away on its embellishing waves of gentle harmony. He had nearly forgotten that he was standing in the belly of darkness. He didn't even mind. Just as he accepted his temporary blindness, the ceiling burst forth with a brilliant white light, and he found himself standing beneath a million points of illumination. It was an unspeakable event, one that had taken him by such surprise, that he could not say anything in reference to this bedazzling view. It was like being in space, afloat on a colorless scape, uncountable star fires blazing around him. Such an amorous feeling. All of this, combined with the fragile breath of bow against string made for magic.

Lola twirled her way over to him, her arms spread wide. She paused just in front of him, "Now, we shall dance."

Corey smiled; enchanted by the atmosphere she had ingeniously created. The spirited way she wisped around, as if she had wings, and the temperate, unassuming manner in which she invited him into her arms, made him eager to comply.

Lola placed Corey's right hand accordingly in hers, then positioned his left on her waist, and they began to waltz. "You mustn't be afraid of moving. Let the music take hold." She instructed, noting his reluctance to fully submit. It wasn't long before they stepped and swayed without digression.

Thomas watched from the side, leaning against the wall, his hands behind his back, one foot crossed over the other. He enjoyed watching them. This momentous occasion merging both young and old, faded beauty and fresh, and all the paradoxical worlds in-between. It was an event he would want to remember always. Sentimental artistry at its finest. A vision only the most incisive should behold, for no sight this sublime should be taken for granted. It was so much more than what it appeared, than what the naked eye could find. In some context, it was symbolic; One having lived life, the other just beginning. This was the collision of present and past, uniting to celebrate, and dance. The profundity of such a happening made a seemingly minute experience, become sacred.

The song wasn't over yet, but Lola took herself away from her partner and scuttled over to Thomas, pulling him onto the floor, placing him in front of Corey. "I want to see you two dance," She insisted, as she flittered back toward the phonograph, stopping the music.

Thomas and Corey shared an amused glare while Lola busily switched the record.

"Only this time," She continued, "We shall bless this affair with something more appropriate. But first, we've got to set... the mood." She placed the needle carefully on the edge of the disc, and then raced back to their side.

Thomas rolled his eyes in dread, "I told you I don't-"

"Do as I say! Corey is a splendid dancer, and it gives the music more purpose when it's courted by lovers," She informed assertively.

Thomas snickered inaudibly, hesitating.

In turn, Lola took his arm and tugged him into their circle. "Come child, don't disobey you're elders. I said I wish to see you two dance, certainly that is not such an preposterous request. You'd be doing a gracious deed for an old woman who may be to old to find love, but still has the eyes to witness the joy of others who savor it. So, go ahead. Proceed." Lola directed fervently, if only to thwart his embarrassment.

He figured he may as well humor her, for arguing was not an option. He tossed out his hands for Corey to find. Equally as abashed, Corey filled Thomas's hands with his own.

This traditional pose was not enough to satisfy Lola. "No, no, no!" She reprimanded as she unlatched their fingers. She pushed Corey into Thomas, and situated his arms around Thomas' neck. "Those in love dance in an embrace. As one. You don't want to desecrate the embodiment of the Sixties. Back then it was all about free love, and sexual liberation." She paused to ponder the comment, a dumbfounded expression housed on her theatrical face. "Or was that the Seventies? Oh, hell! I must be older than I thought." She was quick to release her concern. "No matter. It's quite possible that the originator of this song has passed on to a better place. The worst thing you can do is piss off a dead man by treating his love song as though it were obsolete."

After arranging them in a manner that suited her, she took a step back to survey them. She smiled with pride, "That's much better."

Corey and Thomas were pressed against each other. Thomas's hands were around Corey's waist, while Corey's arms were wrapped around his torso.

Lola moved around them, inspecting every inch of their posture. Neither one of them moved. "Okay," She approved, as she careened to the musical contraption and started it then retreated to the chaise lounge where she sat. For thirty seconds it was completely quiet. The only sound was that of the static coming through the speaker. And then, it began. Every chord caught explicitly by the turntable on which it spun.

"I will never let you go, the world may take me, may break my soul. If in the end, all that remains is you, my heart is set free and all my dreams have come true."

Every aspect of the old song ripened their rapture, contributing to the bittersweet emotions that had suddenly become present. Softly they swayed from side to side, both far away from the room in which they stood. They had been taken from everything around them, transported into a place where only they existed. Their eyes were fixed on each other, drinking the other in.

"I have a confession to make," Thomas said, not breaking their stare.

Corey's mouth twitched into a grin, and then fell, "You have a girlfriend," Corey assumed.

"No!" Thomas laughed.

"Please don't tell me that Thomas isn't your real name," Corey begged seriously.

"Come on, Corey. Give me some credit."

"Sorry. I just don't think I can tolerate any more confessions. I think I'd be forced to join a seminary and become a nun." He said, laying his head on Thomas's shoulder. "I'd make a terrible nun. I'm too flawed to be holy." He admitted, nearly sounding ashamed of the fact.

"I have a good confession," Thomas promised as he stroked Corey's back.

"Okay."

"I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I will never leave you. I will never hurt you, or lie to you. I remember, a long time ago, I made a wish on a star. I asked for someone to love, for someone to love me. I wished that someday, I would find someone who could make my life complete. I wanted that star to prove to me that there was something worth living for... that there was something greater out there. I never believed in wishes before. I always thought a star had to fall from heaven to make a wish come true. It seemed so sad, that, upon the death of a star, a man would burden it with his troubles."

Corey moved his lips, just barely, over Thomas's neck, "Do you believe?"

Thomas inhaled his scent, intoxicated by the sensuous warmth of his closeness. "I do now." Corey raised his head to look at him. Never had he felt love like this before. Until now, he couldn't fathom the magnificence of what he, himself, had been praying for so long. It overwhelmed him, this fulfillment of all he had hungered for. He never imagined the power of the gift he had now been blessed with. Never thought it could be so perfect. And, the one thing that made it all the more special, was having been proven wrong. For all along, it was this love that he never thought would be.

It was in this time that he knew that through every past reincarnation of his soul, every form he thrived in before, it was this love that he had been searching for. Corey clenched Thomas more firmly, holding him as if he were afraid he might vanish in his arms. His insides shivered, partly from fear. He had waited so long to hear words like the ones Thomas endeared, and now that they had been said, he was afraid that he, himself, may disappear. It was all he really ever wanted, and now that he had it, what else was there to want? His longing had forever been the most substantial part of him, and now it had been appeased. So, what was left? Like all great love stories, did he have to die in the end? Had his entire life been readying him for this moment of pure contentment? Now that he found it, was he meant to move on? It wasn't the love that left him so frightened... it was losing it. As far as he knew, nothing this exquisite was supposed to happen to people like him. What price would he have to pay for such a rare thing? "I've spent most of my life waiting to hear that someone could love. I needed that so badly. I got so used to wanting that I stopped thinking it was possible for me. I'm afraid I've taught myself that things like this are not real. They only happen in romance novels and in movies and to everyone else. Not to me. I'm so used to wanting love, never expecting to find it, that I'm afraid I'm not good enough, or smart enough to deserve it, or you." Corey said, his voice shaking. "Love isn't about being smart, or good enough, Corey. It's about loving someone without logic or question. It's about me loving you for everything you are, for the way you tremble because I know that you love me like no one else ever before. I've never felt anything comparable to this. Something so much bigger than I am, something that I have dreamed of. And, now that I've tasted it, I know I couldn't survive without it. That's why love is so grand. It's so incredibly delicate, that no person on Earth could even begin to understand it. It's beyond human comprehension, beyond the stars, beyond the moon, past every known galaxy, too far away to touch, or see, but we can feel it. It is proof that there is something out there, existing with us, for us. Maybe it's God, or some divine master of all that has come to pass. No one knows, and that's the best part about it. I just know that I have you, and that's all I care about."

"So what do we do now? What happens?"

"I don't know. This isn't Hollywood. I'm not waiting for the dramatic ending, or the music to swell and the credits to roll. This doesn't have an ending, Corey. It just is."

"Forever?"

"Yes. Forever, and after."

"Even when I'm old and wrinkled?"

"Even then."

"Even when I say stupid things? I do that, you know. All the time."

"Yes, Corey."

"What about when I embarrass you. Luck is not usually on my side. I fall down a lot. I'm neurotic and I'm flakey. Can you love a flake."

"I think so."

"How about when-"

"Corey."

"Hmm?"

"Shhh."

"Okay."

And even after the music trickled to a hush. After the silence was all that remained. After Lola fell asleep in her fixed position. After the morning birds began to sing. After the sun rose over the village, they still danced.

It was well after seven o' clock when Thomas escorted Corey to his front door. It seemed that neither one of them were tired, but yet the new day and all that it would bring forced them in their separate ways. It made it easier to part knowing that it wouldn't be for very long. When they would meet again, it would be on the other side of the country, and every challenge that faced them would be defeated together.

They stood at Corey's front door, wrapped in one another's hold. "I wish we could leave on the same flight," Corey stated sadly.

Thomas nuzzled his neck, "Our flights are only two hours apart. I suppose I'm lucky that I even get to leave on the same day. Two hours isn't that long. When you get to the airport in San Francisco, just wait for me at the gate. I'll be there." He pinched Corey's chin, trying to make him smile.

"Will you at least come and see me off. Two hours isn't long, I know, but I just want to see your face one more time before we leave Sadie." Corey said hopefully.

"I was planning on it. You don't actually think I'd let you leave me without one kiss to tide me over until we're together again. Just one kiss in front of all of Sadie." He smirked with a wily look in his eye. To Thomas, that kiss would be the golden seal that locked away all things previous. The cloth that wiped his slate clean. The mark of newness.

"So... I'll see you at the airport then. Ten Thirty my plane leaves." He gave him a fast peck on the lips.

"Ten Thirty. Got it." Thomas agreed as he began to step away. Corey reached for the doorknob, then turned away, "Don't forget."

"I'll be there. Come hell or high water. I'll be there." And he jogged away. "I LOVE YOU!" Thomas screamed at top of his lungs, a triumphant yell, though he had left from Corey's view.

Corey laughed to himself as Thomas's bellow echoed. He watched the corner where the evergreens divided the yards hoping he would reappear. When he did not, only then did Corey vanish into his darkened house.

eighteen

And Then There Were None

"HURRY UP, MOM! WE'RE LATE!" Rachel hollered from her bedroom as she scanned her remains for anything she may have missed while packing. It was a sad but true fact; Carol Porter was never on time.

Rachel stormed from her empty room into the hallway to her Mother's office door. "Mom, are you ready?" She knocked once, "The plane leaves in an hour. We have to go!" Rachel shoved the door open and saw her Mother sitting at her desk. Her eyes were glossed with undeveloped tears, her nose was red, and in her hand she held a pink tissue, already saturated.

Rachel walked up to her. She knew. It didn't need to be said. "I'm going to be okay, Mom." Rachel vowed earnestly.

"I know. I know. You'll be fine," Carol chanted in a stuffy voice, wiping her nose again, "I've told that to myself a thousand times, both out loud and in my head. It just... it doesn't make it any easier to let you go." She sobbed, the tears ripening, and falling.

Rachel moved around the desk and sat in Carol's lap, her arms around her neck, and held her head against her mother's.

"I shouldn't be doing this to you," Carol disclaimed, "You have enough to worry about today without your driveling Mother making it worse."

Rachel wiped the wetness from Carols face and held her to her breast, "Don't be silly. Now, if you didn't cry, then I would be upset. I know you care. I know you'll call me every day, make sure I've remembered to eat well. At night, you'll call to make sure my door is locked. We'll write each other and rehash old times. I'll never be too far away to hear you if you need me."

Carol moved her fingers down her daughter's long, thick hair. The youthful curls she had as a little girl had matured into shimmering waves of Brown. "This day always seemed so distant; I never actually had the courage to think that it would come. I never really had to." She sniffled, the smell of Rachel's perfume drifted from her blouse. It soothed her, like a weary child in a mother's arms, only the roles had been reversed. "You are all that I have, and now you have to go away. It all passed by so fast. It's fresh in my memory, the day I tried to teach you to walk. The first time I let you play outside by yourself. I don't know where it all went to, but it's gone. Now you're a woman, and you're so much more brave than I ever was. Not any thanks to me. If you would have followed in my footsteps, you'd be a walking tragedy." They laughed quietly together as Carol continued, "But, I keep wondering what I could have done to have been a better Mother. I know I did a lot of stupid things."

"Mom-" Rachel intervened in an attempt to quiet her.

"NO! No. I did. I know I did. I wish I hadn't taken your training wheels off your bike so soon. Maybe you wouldn't have cracked your head on that parked car. I wish I hadn't been so quick to punish you when you did something wrong. I could have told you how much I loved you more often. I could have held you more. I could have played with you in the backyard like you always wanted. I cannot do that now."

Rachel consoled lovingly as she kissed her crown lightly, "You are a fantastic Mother, and I am so glad that you are mine. You have given me so much in my life, you've taught me so much, and for that I will always be thankful. You've always kept me safe and warm, protected me, sustained me, and given me the life that not many people have had. Our weaknesses have brought us closer than ever. We can laugh and cry together. We can make mistakes and know that the other is there to kiss it better. I can look at you, and I can be proud that you are my Mom, and I hope that someday, you can be just as proud of me."

Carol looked into her child's face, "I already am. I just want to keep you in frilly dresses and pigtails. Okay?" Again, the laughed a hearty laugh, it lifted the stress a little and made them more capable of carrying on.

"Let's go." Rachel prompted as she held on to her Mom's hand gently.

Carol stood from her chair and the started toward the door. In a moment of pure necessity, Carol grabbed Rachel and pulled her back to her, a hug one final time. She closed her eyes and pretended that this woman was still a little girl. "I love you, Rachel," She wept as she held her as close as she could, securely.

"I love you, too." Rachel cried, unable to fight that contagious sadness.

Carol let her go, and the walked down the hallway, descended the staircase, and to the front door where Rachel's luggage sat awaiting her. Still trying to shed her pain, Carol made strong, "Have you got everything?" She asked, her nose still plugged.

"Yeah. I got it." Rachel replied as she pulled open the front door, "Have you got the keys?"

"Got'em." Carol answered as she took two of Rachel's bags, moving past her out the door.

Rachel picked up her last two suitcases and stayed for a few seconds longer. It was just to remember the way that old house felt on the threshold. There sat the desk in the foyer. The entrance into the living room on the left of the short hall, directly across was the door to the dining room. The ceiling fan just above was still moving, very slowly. There was a family portrait hanging just beside her, depicting a once happy couple, and a small, chaste girl, prim in her white, frilly dress, and pigtails. She breathed in that familiar air one last time. A slight trace of antiquity accompanied it. Old and worn in was that house. This would be the last she would see of it for a time. Quietly, she said her good-bye's to that creaky fourth step. To that torn piece of wallpaper. To all the sights that rendered her as part of them. To all the ghosts of her past; The child that ran down the downstairs hall. The Father who caught her from the around the corner, lifting her in his arms and swinging her around as he stared into his own eyes.

With all of this, all she held so dear, she turned and left, closing the door at her back. The solitude that was left behind, the absence of sound, was the house as it wept for the girl it kept from birth. She watched it as they pulled out of the drive, noticed the largeness of it. It was a lovely home. And to say it didn't cause her a great deal of grief to know that she would not be returning, would have been a lie.

She also noticed as Carol veered to the left at the end of the street. She figured it to be a error made due to her anguish, so she was kind enough to point it out. "You just turned left. We have to get on the highway, that's the other way," She said as she stuck a piece of gum into her mouth. Though she had never been on an airplane, it was well known that gum aided the pressure. She wanted to get a head start.

"I know," Carol defended, "We have to pick up Corey and his Father. Tim and I thought it would be nice if we all drove together. That way you and Corey can spend your last few minutes in Sadie with each other," She informed gleefully, as if she were doing Rachel a great deed.

Rachel swallowed her chewing gum. Her mouth dropped into her lap.

"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING!" Corey yelped in disbelief. "Please tell me that you're not serious." He drawled in scalding shock.

His Father shot him a crooked glare from behind the box of clothes he held, "What? Why is that such a surprise? You and Rachel are friends. I thought you'd want to see her before you left," He explained as carried the package downstairs.

Corey rushed after him, "But- I should be with you today, Dad. Why do we have to drive with them? Can't we go by ourselves?" He stammered in a panic.

Timothy dropped the box beside the front door, "You will be with me, Corey. But is just seemed crazy for us to take two cars to the same place when your flights leave ten minutes apart. It will give you the opportunity to say good-bye." He said as he pulled his jacket from the closet, then handed Corey his. "Put this on. It's chilly."

"I already said good-bye.... yesterday. I don't want to say it again. I'll sound repetitious. What I said yesterday won't mean as much as it did then if I say it again today because I'll simply repeat the same thing I said then." Corey spat, half understanding what he was saying.

"Huh?" Timothy asked confused.

"Let's just leave without them."

"That's ridiculous, Rachel. I will not turn around! Listen to yourself." Carol retorted, refusing to do as asked.

"You don't understand MOTHER!" Rachel growled through tight lips.

"What?! What don't I understand?" Carol questioned befuddled.

Rachel threw herself back against the seat anxiously, "I just want to get out of here. I want to get to the airport and leave. They have a car. Why do we have to be their chauffeur?"

"I told you why. Don't you want to see Corey before you leave?"

"NO. I know what he looks like."

"What's the matter with you? Did you two have a fight?" Carol asked concerned.

"It's a long story and I don't want to talk about it," Corey huffed, standing at the kitchen sink. He took a drink of water, hoping to calm his nerves. He turned and handed the glass to his father for no particular reason.

"Well, then this will give you two a chance to make amends. No one wants to leave angry." Timothy advised as he tossed the glass into the sink and followed his son into the living room.

"I don't want to make amends. I just want to forget the whole thing ever happened. Did you get my tote bag? I hope we're taking our car. I'm not sitting beside her. I may have to get violent and I hate violence. Not that a good slap in the head wouldn't benefit that-"

"BITCH?" Carol squealed, "Don't talk about your friends that way, honey. It's rude. Corey's a sweetheart."

Rachel ran her hands over her face in exasperation, "Oh my God, Mother!" She moaned in torment, "Things have changed between Corey and I. We are not friends anymore!"

"YES YOU ARE!" Carol demanded, "People get into little tiffs all the time. You'll get over it, and I suggest you start right now!"

"Why? So it doesn't get in the way of your relationship with Tim?" Rachel asked sternly.

"That has nothing to do with it," Carol upbraided, "Timothy is my friend. Friends are important Rachel. Finding a true one is like finding gold, extremely rare and very precious. I know Corey cares a lot about you."

"Stop lecturing me, Mother. I don't hate him. I just don't want to continue this. That's all." She said, turning toward the window as they drove onto Harrington Street.

"Continue what?" Timothy asked.

"This conversation." Corey answered as he maneuvered the strap of his heavy bag over his shoulder. It felt like it weighed more than he did.

"You're serious." Timothy concluded disheartened.

Corey picked up on his unfavorable reaction, and even began to feel somewhat responsible for it, like he had let him down. "Yeah."

Accepting Corey's reply, he sighed quickly, in and out, then picked up the rest of the bags from the floor.

They scrambled around aimlessly, each trying to carry as much as they possibly could when they heard the beeping of a car horn out front. Corey, who had been bent over, trying to grip the sides of a box, jolted and stood erect, as though he had just been shot in the back. "Is that them?" He queried nervously.

"Who else would it be?" Timothy responded, as he moved to the door.

"God forbid a cab?"

Timothy waved at Carol to acknowledge her arrival and retreated back to Corey, "Okay. I know you and Rachel are at odds right now, but, Corey, Please don't make a scene in the car."

"What do you consider a scene?" Rachel quipped in jest.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Don't worry about it," Rachel concurred agitated. "I won't say a word to him."

"Good!" Carol bounced, "Now get in the back seat."

"Huh?"

Timothy helped Corey haul his belongings out to the car, loading them in the trunk. "I'm not sitting back there with her."

"Yes you are." His Father informed to the contrary.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes... you are!"

"If you like her so much, you sit back there with her."

"You said you wouldn't make a scene."

"I'm not making a scene. This is not a scene. This is a debate. You want me to sit next to her and I don't want to. It's not a scene."

"Get in the car, Corey." Timothy ordered.

"I'm getting up front. I like Carol."

"Don't you dare." Corey began walking to the front passenger side door. He waved at Carol through the window and then reached for the handle.

His Father darted to his side, standing in front of the door, preventing Corey from opening it.

"Why are you being so difficult?" He scolded.

Corey grinned at him, "I'm not being difficult. You're being difficult."

"Get in the back seat." Timothy contended.

"No. You get in the back seat."

"Don't do this," Timothy pleaded in embarrassment.

"Don't do what? I'm not doing anything."

"You're making a scene."

"You're making the scene. You're the one standing in front of the door." Corey assessed proudly.

Timothy leaned downward to the closed window and grinned widely at Carol. He held up his pointer finger, denoting that he would only be a moment longer. He raised up and met Corey with a steadfast glare. "Corey... If you don't get in the back seat... right now... I swear I will put you there myself." He seethed in an almost humorous manner.

Corey drew back in amusement. He released the door handle, and nodded cooperatively, "Okay... fine." He opened up the back door and crawled in.

Timothy situated himself in, and buckled his lap belt. He kissed Carol on the cheek. "Everything okay?" Carol wondered aloud.

"Yeah. Great. Ready to roll." Timothy prompted happily.

Carol pulled the car into gear and they drove away.

The Sadie airport was about a thirty minute drive from where they began. To most, it's a fast paced commute, but to the four prisoners, trapped in that all to small vehicle, it was an eternity. Rachel was pressed against the door, putting as much space between herself, and Corey, as possible. She fixed her eyes on the objects outside her window, as not to accidentally make visual contact with him.

Corey followed the exact same method. With one leg crossed over the other, he managed to have his back toward her at all times. Carol glanced in her rearview. It struck her as quite funny, the way they had left such a gap between them, as if one had a contagious virus.

She shot Timothy a comical look, and saw that he was just as entertained by them. They rolled their eyes simultaneously.

Thomas searched frantically for a piece of writing paper. Upon finding a blank envelope, he sat down at the kitchen table and pulled a pen from the tin can in the center. Time seemed to be moving so fast on this morning. He had so much to do, and, although his bags were packed and sitting at the foot of the stairs, his father hadn't come home yet. The clock had become his rival, calling his attention to it every few minutes. It even sounded like it was ticking louder than before. Nagging at him. He knew he had to get his things, call a taxi, and be at the airport before Corey's flight left. First, he had to write a letter to his father. He had a general idea of what to say, but he needed to be precise about what he left his Father with. He wanted him to know that, despite all that had gone wrong over the years, he still loved him. He wanted him to know that he found the ability to look past all of the conflicts, and prayed that he would as well. So many thoughts hurdled through his brain all at once.

The pen hadn't even touched the paper before the doorbell chimed twice. He quietly cursed it and jumped from his seat. He bounded through the living room and jerked open the door, only to find Lola Collier standing there.

"Hello, my darling, " She greeted as she handed him a white paper bag. "I know you're leaving, so I won't keep you. I've taken the liberty of packing a lunch to hold you until you've reached your destination. Airplane food is simply dreadful," She sang melodramatically as she threw an arm into the air.

Thomas held open the door for her, "Come in, please." He invited, giving no more consideration to his time frame.

Lola strutted past him and looked around, "What a lovely abode. I must say, you have a very good decorator."

"My Mother did it years and years ago before she left. My Father never changed it, so it's hardly modern." He explained as he took a look inside the bag.

Noticing his interest, Lola informed him of its contents, "Oh, don't take it out of the foil until you're ready to eat, dear. It'll get stale. I made some Caviar, and some crumpets, just as a snack. There's also a thermos of Souchong. It's a Delicacy in some countries. Those chefs on airplanes have no refinement to speak of. Most of their cooking is done in-" She cupped her hands over her mouth and whispered loudly as if she were about to swear, "A microwave." She shook her head and made a disgusted face, repulsed by the mere mention. "It's just ghastly!"

Thomas faked a smile and placed the bag on the table next to him. "Thanks, Lola. I appreciate this. Sounds yummy" He lied.

Lola walked to the bottom of the stairs and studied the bags that rested there, "All packed and ready, I see." She observed.

"Yeah. I have to call a cab because my Father isn't here yet and I only have a few minutes before I'm too late. Corey will never forgive me if I'm late. I'd never forgive myself."

Lola swept around, excited by the opportunity, "Problem solved. I'll drive you."

"Would you?"

"I wouldn't hear of it any other way." She hummed merrily as she steered herself to the open door, "I'll just grab my keys and we'll be off."

She came to a dead halt as she watched a man getting out of the bright Red Sedan that had been parked on the curb, directly in front of Thomas's house. "Thomas, I believe your Father just arrived." She announced.

Thomas stepped up to her side, "That's not my Father."

He was a tall fellow, with thinning, dark hair. He wore a neatly pressed business suit with a matching tie and broad shoulders. In his hand he carried a bright yellow folder, with an envelope sticking out from the top.

"You Thomas Bradford?" The man interrogated as he scaled the porch steps in one large stride.

"Yeah."

He held out his hand to shake Thomas's, "I'm Steven Porter. Pleasant County District Attorney. I was wondering if I might have a word with you." He requested in such a formal way that it made the hair's on Thomas's neck stand on end. It felt as though he were being constricted by an entity far more powerful than he, squeezing the breathe from him. The only time a man in a suit had ever wanted anything to do with him was when they were figures of authority. A Parole Officer. A Juvenile Councilor. The terror that manifested was merely instinctive, though, this time, he was pretty sure he had done nothing wrong.

Apprehensively, he shook the man's hand. Mr. Porter gave Lola an awkward look, and then fixed himself on Thomas again, "May I come in?" He asked.

Thomas moved aside, making a clear path for the man to cross.

Lola took his arm and whispered in his ear, "He's a politician, dear. Probably right wing conservative. If he asks for money, tell him you already gave to the Democrats. Send him running with his tail tucked between his legs. I'll go get the keys. I won't be but a moment." Then, she scurried off.

Thomas closed the door and leered at Mr. Porter, "I gave to the Bright Winged Democratics," He announced confidently.

"I'm sorry?" Mr. Porter asked dumbfounded. "I already gave. I can't afford to save all the birds." Thomas stated.

Mr. Porter pursed his lips to muzzle a rising laugh. Forcing it into submission, he walked into the Living room, "Unfortunately, Thomas, I'm here for a very different reason." He took a seat on the sofa, as if it was his, and sat the file down on the coffee table. He began shuffling through the papers. "It seems that a very delicate situation has risen. I don't usually tend to these matters personally, but-" He suddenly realized that Thomas had not joined him. He was still lurking in the foyer, watching him from the archway. Mr. Porter, being a most perceptive man when it came to those who were not close to him, saw that Thomas was a bit intimidated. Still questioning the purpose of his visitor. "It really is important that you listen." Mr. Porter pressed.

Thomas stalked his way to the couch and sat down, "I- I'm leaving for school today. I really don't have much time, I have to get to the airport," he asserted politely.

"I'll be as brief as possible," Mr. Porter said as he lifted a pink sheet of paper from the tabletop. He wiped his hand over his stubbly mouth, "I don't quite know how to go about this, Thomas. This is a rare occurrence, and since most of the members of my firm are unequipped to handle such a case, I was appointed." He took a deep breath, obviously leading up to something. He squirmed, as if trying to find the proper words.

Thomas eyed him, his concern growing, "What. What's wrong?"

"This is not easy for me to say. I have a daughter of my own, and-" He paused, as if the mention of her caused a certain aching.

Thomas hurried to a conclusion, coming much closer to the man he, just a few seconds ago, couldn't get far enough from, "Is this about my Dad? Is my Dad okay? Where is he?" He grilled anxiously, practically on the verge of hostility. He yanked the pink paper from the man's hand.

"That's a copy of the deed to this house. It's been transferred into your name." He picked up the folder and set in Thomas's reach, "You'll also find the Registration and titles to two vehicles, as well as Five Hundred Thousand dollars in a savings account established in your name. You also have Ten Thousand Dollars in bonds that matured over a year ago, and-"

"Is my Dad dead?" Thomas asked somberly, not looking at the man, or even blinking an eye. He was in a state of shock.

Mr. Porter didn't answer straight away. Perhaps it was because it was too difficult to say, or even comprehend. "No. He's not dead, Thomas"

Thomas had no reaction.

With a note of sympathy in his voice, he went on, "This was all carried out through a series of legal representatives of your Fathers. He handed over everything to you. His stock portfolio, a property in Hartford-"

"Where is he?" Thomas asked mechanically, no feeling.

"I- I can't tell you that."

"Why?"

"He... uh... he doesn't want us to reveal that to anyone." The man sat upright, as if to defend this action, "I wish I could tell you Thomas, but I would be breaking the law. It would be different if you were under age, but since you're eighteen, there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry."

The paper fell to the floor as Thomas lost all strength. He had been abandoned, first by his Mother, now by his Father. Inside, he cried and screamed. Outside, he was stone.

Lola's impeccable timing brought her through the door at the worst possible moment, "I'm Baaak, my love." She declared thearically, coming into the livingroom. "We're in a hurry Mister Politician Man, we have a plane to catch." She sashayed over to Thomas, taking his arm, trying to budge him, "Come doll, we must leave before the day grows too old and leaves us behind. Come, come!" She called. When he had no reply, nor even an eye in her direction, her chipper attitude turned to something more of worry. She dropped the car keys into Thomas's lap in a final effort to revive him, "You can even drive."

Mr. Porter stood quickly, "There's some papers there for you to sign. I'll leave them with you along with a self-addressed stamped envelope for your convenience. Unless you have any questions concerning the acquisitions, I'll be on my way. I have someplace that I have to be. " He waited for an answer, but did not get one. "My number is in there. If you like I can refer you to a social worker or a financial counselor."

"No." Thomas refused quietly.

Feeling he could do no more for the boy he had come to pity, he left. As he passed by Lola she hissed at him. What had he done to her Thomas?

She waited for him to leave before she took a seat next to her beloved friend, "Are you okay?" She asked softly.

"My Father is gone." He retorted blankly.

"Oh, no!" Lola gasped in horror, "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. You know, my Father died when I was twelve, and it was the worst-"

"He's not dead." Thomas corrected abruptly. "He left me. He gave me the house... everything he had."

Lola could remember only a handful of times in her life when she had been rendered speechless, she would add this to those moments. She uttered all that came to mind, "Oh."

"Oh my God," Thomas wept, now frightened. He had tried to shield himself from the sharpness of the impact, but now it had hit him and he cried, "What am I going to do? He left me. He left me." He repeated again and again, hoping that he would find some sense in it, as he cried harder. "He left me... he left me..."

Lola put her arm around him and pulled him close to her, cradling him, "Oh dear..."

He wrapped himself around her, trembling, and she let him cry on her shoulder. She patted his back gently and whispered to him, "Let it all out. Just let it all go."

"No!" Thomas said, taking himself out of her warming embrace. He wiped his eyed, "I don't want this! I DON'T WANT THIS!" Thomas shouted, as he stood up fast. He kicked the coffee table hard and it topped over. "I DON'T WANT THIS!" He screamed, his face red, tears streaming downward. He turned and shoved the china cabinet from the wall using a strength he never realized he possessed. The inlaid glass shattered as it fell on its face, the contents spraying outward. "I don't want it. I don't want it." He cried as he punched the wall hard and then collapsed against it, melting to the floor.

Lola stood slowly and carefully moved toward him. "Thomas..."

"Why do people do this to me?" He sobbed, "Why do they also walk away. Am I that bad?"

"No, Sweetheart." Lola soothed, coming to the floor beside him. "I don't know why he did it, Thomas. But you're not alone." She said as she rested her hand on his shoulder, "It's the fates. They're keeping you."

"Keeping from what?"

"From happiness. From your destiny. Life isn't about what other people do to you, Thomas, it about what YOU do with your life. It's about finding your purpose and achieving it."

"What if this is my destiny? Having people I love leave me? They always leave. He was all I had, and he left me. He left me alone." He cried again, burying his face in his hands, trembling. "You're not alone, Thomas. You are one of the lucky few... who are loved." She laid her head on his back as he sobbed heavily, "You're loved." The keys in his lap fell to the floor alongside the pink paper. The clattering echoed, faded, but had gone unheard.

From the observation deck of the Sadie Airport, Corey watched as several passengers boarded a tiny plane that sat on the runway. He glanced up at his Father who stood next to him, a curious expression filling his face. "This wasn't exactly what I was expecting. That's so small. If that thing goes down, we're all goners. Whatever happened to the big planes?"

"That's a commuter plane, Corey," Timothy assessed, "It's not meant to go long distances. It'll take you to a larger Airport where you'll get on one of the planes that will take you to San Francisco."

"How many people do you think fit into that matchbox?" Corey asked.

"It looks like an eight seater. Don't worry about it. You'll be fine. People travel on them all the time." He comforted to no avail.

"You just never hear about the ones that drop from the sky." Corey snapped. "Ask Amelia Earhart. She flew in one of them little things. Oh, that's right. SHE'S MISSING! Never found. Gone."

Timothy laughed at him, "Well, I think we've come far in the aviation department since 1937."

"Oh, that makes me feel better. Just one question; why am I getting on a rickety old plane that looks like it was crafted from the wreckage? It's an omen, Dad. I don't want to die in a fiery ball of tin foil."

"You're not going to die." Timothy promised as he walked away from him and sat in a chair next to Rachel.

The chairs were positioned in a giant square facing outward. In the center there was a jungle-like menagerie of fake plants, all dusty and withered. It was beyond Carol how a fake shrub could wither. On the other side, she saw the Cavanaugh family. Excited to see them, she began waving her hand spastically. "Mary!" She called to Mrs. Cavanaugh.

Rachel looked up from her magazine. She turned around and saw them huddled around Gabe. She grabbed her Mother's hand, forcing it down, "NO! MOM! NO!" She pleaded loudly.

Carol retreated begrudgingly, "What?" She yelped, "Gabe is over there."

She stood up, "Let's go say hi," she suggested quite innocently as she started away.

Rachel yanked her back hard, "NO! She bellowed irritated.

"Just sit down. Please."

"Oh, Rachel. You're so weird." Carol complained. "When did you ever get so weird? He's you're boyfriend. Don't you at least want to see him off."

"He's not my boyfriend, Mother," Rachel contested, "And I'm not weird."

Carol shot her a queer look, as if to say otherwise.

"I'm not weird!" Rachel argued offensively as she went back to her reading. "I'm not." It was difficult to concentrate on her tabloid now that her Mother had brought Gabe to her attention. She didn't want to admit to herself that she even cared that he was there, and she fought it. She despised herself for even wondering if he was aware of her close proximity. Was he looking? She pushed her eyeballs as far to the side as they would go, until they hurt, just to peek. She couldn't see anything. Discreetly, she shifted to the side, her back toward her mother. She peeked over her the top of the magazine and saw that, indeed, he was looking at her.

Immediately, she turned away, shunning him. "Oh, God," She mumbled with dread.

"What?" Timothy asked beside her.

"Nothing," Rachel said dismissively. She stood from her chair and walked across the lobby to the drinking fountain. She held back her hair and twisted the nozzle. The water felt cool against her lips, temporarily medicating the tear in her heart. At least it took her mind from it, for a while.

She paid no attention to the figure standing beside her. She had only caught a glimpse of the form briefly, realizing someone was waiting to use the fountain. Then, a voice. "I wanted to say Good-bye." It was Gabe.

Rachel froze for a second. He had followed her here. She rose, trying to seem unaffected by his presence. She wiped the wetness from her mouth, and looked at him. She regretted ever doing that. Even casting her gaze upon reminded her how much that face meant to her. How she once adored it. How weak she was, and still, no matter how she willed herself to leave him standing there, she could not.

Gabe stared longingly into her careless eyes. "I won't patronize you by spouting apologies you won't believe. I don't blame you. I just wanted to say good-bye."

Her voice caught in her throat, as a diverse collection of emotions took their stations. She would not cry, that was not even feasible now, for the furor met the sadness with equal strength. It would be so simple to say it and walk away, but the words did not come easy, mostly because of the despicable fact that she wanted to be near him, only for a moment. Denying herself that, she purged her farewell, as if she didn't care. "Bye." She chimed as she did an about face and started in the opposite direction, back toward her chair.

She hadn't walked five feet before she heard him again. Words she wished she wouldn't have heard. Words she had hoped she was immune to. It hadn't been long enough.

"I love you."

She stopped.

"I know it makes you sick to hear me say it. I know you think it's a lie, but it's not." He continued.

She rolled her eyes in spite of him, pretending to be insulted.

"But, if I don't say it now, I may never have the chance again."

She stood idle for a while, allowing his voice to reverberate through her. She knew that Gabe did love her once. A long time ago. That childhood romance was what she mourned. She could not act as if she had never loved him, as though she had escaped injury. He was not hers any more. She would give him no redemption.

Only now did she face him. She even found a proud smile, folding her arms. "Fuck you." She sneered with satisfaction. She swung around, and shed him like an old skin.

"What time is it?" Corey asked as he approached Carol.

She glanced at her watch, "Ten fifteen."

Corey looked into the crowds that filled the lobby, "Thomas should have been here by now," He stated to himself, not requiring an answer.

"He'll be here," Carol promised without a doubt.

Just then, a booming voice broke through the room from inlaid intercoms in the ceiling. "Passengers for Flight One Twenty are now boarding at Gate Four. All passengers report to the Gate with your tickets."

Carol jumped up to meet Rachel just as she reclaimed her chair. "That's you Rachel." Carol barked hurriedly, jerking her back up as she sat down.

Rachel, looking quite surprised, appeared amazed, "That's me? She questioned, hoping it was a mistake.

"Yeah, you have to board," Carol said as she lifted Rachel's carry-on bag from the carpeted floor.

Rachel scrambled to gain her composure. This had come so sudden.

Corey watched her frantic expressions shift from uncertainty. He could see her fast exchanges of fear, anticipation, and discord. Carol had already walked to the podium that stood at the mouth of a glass door. A huge iron staircase would lead her to the pavement below, where she would walk to her tiny plane.

Rachel tossed her leather backpack over her shoulder. As she moved in front of Corey, she paused, as if wanting to say something. He secretly prayed she would. If she didn't, he would. And then, just as she turned her head to him, a voice was called from the background.

"RACHEL! Her Father summoned as he breasted the crowd, coming closer.

Rachel stepped past Corey to meet him, "Daddy?" She asked in disbelief.

He took her into his arms and lifted her off the ground, spinning in a full circle. Then placed her back on the ground. "What are you doing here?" She questioned.

"I came to see my little girl off! There's nothing wrong with that is there?"

"But... I mean... I haven't seen you in months." She pointed out.

"I've been busy," he replied, as though it were an amiable excuse. He smiled at her in unrestrained delight, expecting her to be just as happy to have him there. She was not, and she made that obvious without saying a word.

She looked back at her Mother, who was watching them closely. "I hope you didn't inconvenience yourself," She slurred, not half as stupid as he probably hoped her to be.

"No! Not at all. I just took an early lunch, that's all. It's a challenge to find the time to do anything outside of work today." He informed, as if he wanted some reward for the effort. When he didn't get his desired response, when she didn't grab his arm and squeal and flutter around him like a drunk butterfly, he resorted to other means. "Aren't you glad to see me?" He whined, trying to make her feel guilty.

Again, she looked back at her mother then returned to her Father. "I don't know."

Mr. Porter took her shoulder and gave it a rough shake. It was his way of showing affection. Ignoring something he didn't want to hear by acting as if it hadn't meant anything. It was more convenient than permitting any internal disharmony. He didn't want to be held accountable for any of his actions. It was easier to walk away from them. A hit and run. "Come on. I'll see you off." He put his arm around her and walked her to the podium where he greeted Carol with only her name, and a polite nod of the head.

The bleached blond stewardess tending the counter took to rushing them, "We're on a schedule." She squalled sternly, in a high tone, not unlike a crow.

Carol could have said much, given the fact that this snappy stewardess may have easily been mistaken for a costumed stripper. She had absolutely no manners, and fake tits. This silicon stuffed broad probably knew her ex. But of course, Carol was a lady. She gave no reciprocation to either the busty attendant, or her nauseating husband. Instead, she busied herself with her daughter.

"I already gave the stewardess your ticket." She handed Rachel her other bag, "You'll be walking down some stairs. Make sure you hold on to the railing. You don't want to fall. Now, when you get on that plane, make sure you get a window seat. That way we can wave to each other, okay?" She instructed in a frenzy.

With all the overwhelming hysteria exploding around her, Rachel fell slowly deaf to all of her surroundings. It became so quiet. So beautifully, soundless. It was then she saw him again from across the room. Gabe. Standing there, watching her amidst this flurry of tension. She slowly peered over her shoulder to Corey, who was also staring at her. There was still so much left undone. So many loose ends she believed she could tie, and forget. In doing so, it had only made this moment more painful.

As Corey looked away, walking to a random chair, falling into it, Angie entered the Lobby. The first thing she laid eyes on was Rachel, and that's where they rested. Then, Angie turned from her, perhaps in shame, and moved on.

Without any respect to Rachel's preoccupied state, Carol took her daughter's face into her hands and kissed her hard on the forehead. That's when the ruckus returned. The sound had found its way back.

"You okay?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Rachel sighed, the unsteadiness a dead giveaway. "I'm okay." She added.

"Miss!" The Stewardess cawed, "I can't wait any longer."

Carol kissed her again, "Okay, baby. Don't forget to call me right when you get there. I'll wait by the phone." She toyed with her child's hair, feeling the texture, placing it over her lapel.

"Okay," Rachel agreed.

"I'll... talk you soon."

She figured that was her cue to walk from her Mom, but she could not bring herself to leave her. She threw herself into Carol's arms and wept, "I'm scared."

"Me too. Me too."

And then, she did just as she had to do. She removed herself from her Mother's safe arms, and started toward the door.

Mr. Porter yelled to her, "Don't forget to write!"

She pressed down the handle of the door, barely turning, but making sure she was heard, "If I can find the time."

Then, she was gone.

Through her tears, Carol looked at her ex and found quick, muffled snorts slipping through the fabric of the tissue she held over her mouth. She was laughing.

On the cusp of a new life, Rachel stepped against the currents of wind that blew fiercely over the open air field. This was it, and yet, in the back of her mind, she knew it was far from over. Going away, accepting a strange land as her home would be harrowing. She wondered if life in New York would be as deviously complex as it was here. It was reason enough to keep her eyes open. Her days of fantasy living were done. Perhaps Sadie, and the events that had taken place, were nothing more than an unseen educator. Her lessons were in survival, and she had. Sometimes, she didn't believe she would, but she had. Leaving was her crowning achievement. The plane she boarded was her blue ribbon. The air was hers. Now she would be taken into the sky, look down on all she had ever known, and bid it ado. She knew that, from way high up, Sadie would be nothing more than a blade of grass in an endless pasture. She wouldn't see the details. No faces. No flaws. It was the same as being there. Nothing was ever as it seemed. More secrets than souls. A place most would never hear of. A village with nothing to set it apart from the rest of the world. People, lost is the solitude it offers, in the beauty it holds.

She had lived there once.

Come Josephine, In my flying machine, Going up she goes... Up she goes.

The engine began to whir. drowning out the noise around her. There she sat, tucked deep into her seat, alone inside herself. Why wasn't she happy? How could she miss them already.

Balance yourself, like a bird on a beam, In the air she goes, There she goes.

She watched her Mom waving from the window above. Beside her stood Corey. He put one hand against the cool glass. An gesture? Maybe. Rachel laid her palm against the clouded porthole. Good-bye, Corey. All at once, she wondered what would become of him. Where would he be in the seconds she thought of him. She knew that he would stay with her, crossing her mind on rainy days. In breezes of tranquility. Whenever she heard an old song, or saw a boy to beautiful for words. She would remember him. Without knowing it, he had been an instrument of change. Now she was leaving him, along with everything else.

It was here, deafened by the roar of the plane, that she found the importance of this very breath. The breath that divided time. Everything was separated by this definitive second. A before, and an after. The after, and all it held, was calling her. She began to move, farther and farther from view. She could feel the slight flaws in the runway as she gained speed. Pulled from the hands of a place she knew only as home. "Good-Bye."

Up, up, a little bit higher. Oh my, the moon is on fire. Come Josephine, in my flying machine, calling out a long Good-bye.

And then, she was carried away.

Corey's hand slid down from the glass. Carol had run to take comfort in his Father's arms. He stared at the sky, knowing she was there, somewhere, though he could not see her. He took solace in knowing that someday, some day in their future, long after Sadie, they would meet again.

He turned from the window and saw Gabe standing a few feet back from him. A clear distance away from the window, where he wouldn't see her leave, but he would know she was gone. He did love her. When he realized that Corey was watching him, he hovered in his sight for a second. Unable to stay there, riddled with guilt, he hung his head. He didn't want to know Corey could see him. So, ever so slowly, he walked from his eyes, only to cry for what he once had. Once... during a long, hot, summer. A summer sentenced to his past. Only one place to go from here.

"Flight Three Hundred to Columbus, Ohio is now boarding at Gate Six. All Passengers please report to the gate with your departure tickets."

The voice blared once more. Instantly, Corey knew that Angie would be on that plane. He scanned the room for some evidence of her. There she stood at the opposite end of the room.

"Bye-Bye baby doll!" Dolly belted out, heaving and sobbing dramatically. "Momma's gonna miss you so much."

Angie gave her a hug, "I'll be back, Mom. It's not like I'm going off to war."

Dolly's face was bright pink. Her mouth had been permanently stretched at the sides as she bawled harder. She snorted every time she tried to breathe. She seemed as though she were having some sort of attack. "You - You - Don't - have to - go - if - you - don't want to." Dolly gasped between her words. When finished, she screeched out loud, helplessly. Her eyes had swollen and became narrow slits.

"Don't cry, Momma. I have to do this. It'll be good for me. You want the best for me, don't you?" Angie asked, feeling not a bit embarrassed by her hormonal Mother.

"YEEEEEEAHHHH!" Dolly blurted, hating to admit it to herself. But, she did, and because of it, she cried more.

Angie wiped her Mother's face, paying no attention to the thick mascara that had gotten on her hand, "Now, give me a kiss so I can go."

Dolly mauled Angie's head, kissing her four or five times. When she finally stopped, Angie had Vixen Red lip marks all over her face. It was unfortunate that Angie turned from her Mom as fast as she did. Maybe her Mother would have seen the spots, and wiped them off.

Angie handed her tickets to the attendant. It was also regrettable that, he being so busy, did not even extend and upward glance. Had he bothered, he would have let her know. As she walked to the door, fellow passengers gave her odd looks, but scrutiny was nothing new.

While she followed the line of people across the paved lot, she tried to be as casual as possible. No looking back. "Ohio State, here I come." At least she was dressed for it.

Mr. Porter remained at the window. He noted all the nameless faces scurrying around below. The fuel carts. The mechanics. So much to observe, and yet all he could think of was Rachel. How he had wronged her. Would he ever get her back?

Corey threw his Father a spastic expression. His plane left in exactly ten minutes. "Thomas should be here. It's almost Ten Thirty. What if he can't find me? I can't remember if I told him what gate I was at? What if he's lost somewhere? Should I have him paged?" Corey spewed frenetically as he wrung his hands together nervously.

Timothy took close inventory of the people around them. No Thomas. "I don't see him."

"Well, keep looking. I know he'll be here. He promised."

As he said those words, Mr. Porter crept up behind him, "You wouldn't be talking about the Bradford boy, would you?"

Corey swirled around, "Yeah. You know him?" It didn't surprise him that Rachel's Father knew him. In this town, everybody knew everybody.

Mr. Porter volunteered little sympathy, "I wouldn't wait if I were you. He's not coming,"

Corey's breathing came to a fast halt as he explored the man's proud face, as if he had taken some malevolent pleasure in saying this to him. Corey knew damn well it wasn't true. "How would you know?"

Steven Porter raised his hands in surrender, "Hey, I'm just telling you so you don't waste your time waiting."

Corey rejected his concession immediately, "You don't know what you're talking about," Corey snarled in detest.

Timothy rose from his chair to stand at Corey's side. He had heard everything Steven Porter had said, and actually entertained the potentiality. "Is everything okay?" He questioned Mr. Porter.

Feeling he could discuss it on more rational terms with Corey's father, he expounded only vaguely. "He had some pretty substantial problems arise this morning. I hate to say it, but Thomas has been detained indefinitely."

"What happened?" Timothy pressed dismayed. It irritated Corey that his Father would listen to such nonsense. He knew Thomas was coming.

"I'm not at liberty to say. I can tell you I was there this morning on some personal business-" Timothy interjected, "Don't give me any of that shit. I'm an attorney. I know about client privileges. This isn't a damn courtroom, and Thomas is a close friend. Just tell us, what happened?"

Steven was taken aback by his abrasiveness. "I'm sorry." And he walked away from them. Once again, the lawyer had overcome the human part of him.

Corey jumped at his Father in a panic, "Dad?!" He yelped, wanting him to discredit the horrible man who had so cruelly stirred him.

Timothy could give him no certain resolution. He dug in his pockets and handed Corey a quarter, "Go to the payphone. Call Thomas. Go now."

Corey snatched the coin and barreled across the room to the telephone booth against the far wall. He inserted the quarter into the slot, but he was so beside himself, he could barely dial. Finally, it rang. Each ring drew him closer to hopelessness. "Please be there. Please. Please. Please." He cried quietly. He let it ring a dozen times. No answer. Timothy and Carol waited beside him. As Corey gave up, he trembled and spoke. "He didn't answer." He stared straight ahead, doing his best to maintain his composure. He didn't want to cry anymore. It was all about truth, about fate. He knew now that Thomas would not come. He wanted to run to his plane, fly it away himself, just to put as much distance between himself, and this town.

"Flight Three Twelve bound for San Francisco is boarding at Gate One. Passengers please report to the desk with your passes." The hidden voice pounded his eardrums, like a last good punch. He appeared eerily undisturbed. A private earthquake had shaken him, brought the world down around him, and yet, he still stood. Imagine looking across the rubble of all that once held solid. Things you loved, things you enjoyed. People... places... all gone. Rachel. Thomas. Angie. His Father. Harrington, Friendships, lovers, all vanishing, one by one. He didn't recall it hurting this much when he left San Francisco just six months ago. Back then, there wasn't this much to leave behind. Now he was going back. He could remember crying for his home after seeing the smallness of Sadie. He never could have seen what lay ahead. That Sadie, small as it may be, was more dangerous than any city her had ever been to. Not because of guns, or gangs, or anything relative to that, but because of the darkness in daylight. The things no one sees. A thousands little stories of as many lives, all intertwining, all effected by one another. Ants in a glass encasement. That was Sadie. The outside world was obsolete. The less one knew the better. Corey had found his way here, now he had to find his way home.

Without a sound, he moved sluggishly through the crowd. A man, in hurry, slammed into him, knocked him off course, and then kept going. Corey didn't care. He continued onward, lifting his bags from the seat. It was dream-like, the way all of these strangers raced to unknown destinations. People laughed, people cried. They hugged. Some were on telephones, some were huddled in circles. A few lived here, a few had just been visiting. There were those who were coming home. Others were leaving. Some would return. Others would not.

He made his way to the ticket booth and handed the steward his pass. The man stamped it, then handed it back to him. He turned back to his father, gazing at him in such a way, unsure of what to say.

His Father pulled him close to him, resting his head on Corey's. "It'll get better," he vowed. "As long as I'm around, I'll remind you of that. It always gets better. The heart takes the longest to heal, but it does." Timothy felt blameworthy. It had been he who initiated this move. Forced Corey from his big world, where, when it all became to much, he could get lost. He couldn't do that in Sadie. This place had altered him in many fashions. He had delivered his son into a surrogate reality, where he had been both beaten and scarred. It weighed heavy on Timothy; that his motives for coming here had been to transgress the painful ideas of his wife's death. An escape designed more for him, than for Corey. Now, he had Carol, his firm was growing, and he had begun to find promise again. Corey had been lost in the shuffle. "I'm sorry I put you through this." Timothy sighed, his voice careening through the strands of Corey's dark hair. "Forgive me."

Corey looked up into his sincere face, "I learned... to forgive... a long time ago." He said somberly. He knew his Father meant well in bringing him here. It wasn't as if he knew what awaited them.

"Whenever you need me, Son..." Timothy whispered.

"You'll come. I know that. You always have."

"I don't know if I can leave you. I want to keep holding you, but I know I can't do that. You wouldn't be happy. You need to go where you can be happy. That's all I ever wanted for you."

"I can be happy anywhere... as long as I have you, Dad." With a final, fleeting smile, Corey stepped away from his beloved Father. As he came close to the door, he knew that once he crossed that threshold, nothing would ever be as it was. He hesitated for a long minute, his hands pressing lightly on the cold door handle. He thought of Thomas, and how much he had truly come to love him. How it seemed that some supernatural deity refused to let Thomas love him. It was so maddening, that even when someone wanted to love him, wanted to be with him, they were subjected to the funnel of adversity that spiraled around him. He was cursed. Damned to live a life unloved.

"What a load of shit." He unconsciously declared out loud.

"Excuse me?" The old who stood behind him asked, aghast.

Corey began talking to himself, not caring who heard, "I do this to myself, you know? I procrastinate about what love means, how only the lucky people find it, blah, blah, blah.." He wiped his hand over his face hard. "I'm not going to do this anymore... there is so much more... so much more. I'm tired of being the protagonist of my own lovelorn drama. God, I must have sounded so whiney and weepy. It's to grow up now Corey. Time to be brave. He loved you."

He wasn't really aware of the crowd that had begun to gather around him. Not to mention, he was blocking the door. But it wasn't just the passengers who waited in line behind him. No one seemed to mind. They were listening to him closely.

"Who loved you?" The bald Old Man asked, his curiosity provoked?

"Thomas loved me," Corey said, staring out at the runway, unaware of who he was answering.. "He loves me. It's the first time someone ever loved me the way I'd always dreamed. Have you ever seen one of those old movies, where they sing about love, and dance around all in a trance. I always wondered what that would be like. I know that now. Never thought I would, but I do." He turned to the faces staring at him. "Don't let anyone tell you that it's something that only happens in the movies, because that's not true. It happens to people like us. Like you and me. The hardest part is just find him. That one single soul in a sea of a million, that's meant just for you. It's a terrible thing to go through. Almost impossible. But it happens!" He preached excitedly.

The Old Man grabbed hold of his wife, who stood next to him. She was a tiny, blue haired lady who probably had her hair dyed a different pastel shade every month. Under her arm rested a limp poodle with red bows on her crown. "This is my wife, Niva! We've been married for fifty two years. I know love!" He testified as he gave her an affectionate nuzzle.

A voice called from the back of the crowd, "I've been married for fifteen years," A business man announced, holding up his briefcase to be recognized, "I couldn't be happier."

Another voice presented itself, "I met my true love on a Monday." A hefty, middle aged man announced from underneath his baseball cap, "We were married that Friday. Ten years ago and still going strong!" He howled.

A short woman held up her hand, "Been with the same man for Eight years. The best years of my life!"

"Eighteen years."

"Thirty-Four years."

"Two years!"

The growing crowd applauded each testimony.

Corey moved closer to them, "But it's never easy to find it. I had already taken myself out of the game when I moved here six months ago. Then Thomas came along. When I look back on it now, I knew I loved him from the moment my eyes met his." Corey focused on a young woman holding an infant, "My heart told me it was him who I had been waiting for, but my head told me that I was kidding myself. I thought I was being my old, fanatical, melodramatic self. I didn't believe he could ever feel the same way." He found his way to the center of the circle that had been formed around him. He paused, looking down at the continuous patterns in the carpet, "But he did. And we kept it from each other for fear the other would laugh. Finally, when he told me how he felt- and it happened just the way it does in romantic stories, those ones that make your heart flutter. I had been proven wrong. So it's all perfect, right? A happy ending."

They cheered him on, whistling and raving on as if he were some accomplished celebrity. "It's wrong." Corey attested sadly, his voice diminishing to a subtle whisper, "Wrong."

The onlookers hushed instantly, gawking at him with saddened expressions as though he had bonded with each of them, and they could feel his disarray. They waited for him to continue, but he didn't. He remained quiet as moments from the past summer came back.

Finally, the steward entered his circle. The uniformed young man didn't say anything for a moment, he simply stood there. Upon seeing him, Corey prepared himself for the worst. He had managed to get into to trouble one more time before leaving Sadie. He hoped he didn't have to go to jail. He had heard about what happened to skinny little gay boys in jail.

"Well? What Happened?!" The steward bellowed in anticipation.

"Yeah! What happened," A hidden lady yelled.

Corey stood absolutely still as he took in their faces, "Life. Life happened." He replied. "It's the end of the summer. I am here today because this is my flight to San Francisco. To my new beginning. He was supposed to go with me... even chose a school nearby so we could start over together. And then..." He paused, for this was where even he grew confused, "Something happened... Something always happens." Corey walked back toward the door, "That's it. That's where it ends."

He made his way back to the glass door, and this time, without hesitation, he pressed the handle and stepped out onto the iron staircase. He held the railing as he descended to the pavement below. He saw his plane sitting several yards away. The side panel had been pulled down, revealing four plastic steps on the other side. He would enter that capsule and it would carry him far away, just as a similar one had taken Rachel and Angie before him. Now, It was his turn.

With one foot before the other, putting on his bravest face, he disappeared into the craft. He met the pilot just inside the opening. He was a black man with a warm smile. His tag read; "MARCUS ADDAMS." He took Corey's ticket and pointed to a seat down the narrow aisle. There were eight seats, four on each side, just as his Father had predicted. Corey was the first one to board. He sidestepped his way to his seat, and, once there, pushed his bag beneath it. He arched his neck against the headrest and looked up at the arched roof of the cabin. It wasn't but a few minutes before the other passengers began to board. One woman grabbed his hand as she passed, smiling kindly, before moving on. They must all think him a pity case.

The toothpick thin stewardess gave a well-practiced lecture on airplane etiquette. She pointed to the one exit, explained how the seatbelts worked, then took her own chair at the front, just outside the cockpit.

Corey looked out the window as the propellers began to spin rapidly, appearing to change directions, though it was just an illusion. He could feel the vibrations from the massive engine at his side, he jolted as the plane began to move. In just awhile, he would be soaring through the clouds. A sight he had been looking forward to. It was a bit metaphorical, how one can relate love to flying. Such a beautiful place to be, exhilarating. But if the something were to go wrong, you plummet to your death. Such a delicate balance, one to be treasured, indeed. He had that once.

Thomas hit the glass door in a fury. He paid no regard to the security guards who tried to stop him. Nothing could hold him back. As he cleared the stairs with leaps and bounds, he screamed with all his might. "COOORRRREEEY" His feet slammed against the concrete as he ran for everything his life depended on. He had to get to him. He had to reach him. If he had to find the ability to run faster than a plane, or even take flight, he would do it, for no one who knew the enormity of his love would doubt that he could.

"WAIT! STOP!" He begged as he waved his hands in the air. Thankfully, the airplane had just reached the runway, and had slowed a great deal.

The 'No Smoking' light came on above Corey, as the pilot's voice filled the cabin. "Welcome to Flight Three Twelve. In about an two hour we'll be descending into Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania where you will find your connecting flights to San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Sacramento. We're next on the runway, so sit back, and enjoy the ride."

Corey sat his hands in his lap as they began to go faster.

Thomas was almost there. He didn't care if he had made a spectacle of himself. He was going to catch that plane if it was the last thing he would ever do. He couldn't lose him. And if hell rose before him to stop him, if the pavement under him smoldered like fire, he would run faster and bear the wounds, just to see him. Though his legs ached and his heart raced, he kept on. "Corey!" He cried as he came alongside the plane, doing his best to keep up. "COREY!"

Corey took a magazine from the fold of the seat in front of him. He flipped through it carelessly, having no interest in actually reading it. And then, he heard a loud voice from the back of the plane. "Oh my God! Someone's out there."

Corey ignored her, as other passengers bolted from their chairs to rush to the windows. The stewardess stood abruptly, "SEATBELTS! Sit down! People, you have to take your seats. We're taking off!"

No one listened. They all bargained for the best window to see out of. Out of curiosity, Corey looked. That simple decision to submit to a passing curiosity would prove to be the most valuable choice of his life. After that glance, the sands of fate shifted forever. It was then he saw Thomas running, screaming. He scrambled to unfasten his buckle, slung it from his waist, and darted upward.

"STOP!"

Thomas had fallen behind. Now he was on the runway, watching his lover prepare to ascend. Maybe it was stubborn faith, or sheer will that kept him going, but he still ran. He saw the nose of the plane lift up. The front wheel left the ground as it angled upward... but a most precarious thing occurred just after, for just as quickly, it came back down, slowed, and just as it reached the very end of the stretch, it stopped completely. He still had a distance to go to reach it, but despite his weary body failing him, he forced himself to go on.

The plastic staircase lowered, and Corey appeared in the oval doorway. He saw Thomas and jumped down, taking on the speed of the plane itself. "THOMAS!" He hollered in a euphoric state, as he dashed toward him, unable to wait for his arms, to see his smile.

With every eye on the ground watching them, it grew completely still. Silent. Then, they met in a heated embrace. It was there they belonged, and it was there they would stay for all time.

"I love you." Thomas said breathlessly as he kissed him.

"I know." Corey replied smiling, tears of joy wetting his eyes. "I know."

And he did.

~From The Author~

Sadie Stories was my first novel, written during the summer of 1998. I was a wide-eyed, unassuming teenager just out on my own and scared to death in that unfamiliar territory of life responsibility. The world was captured as I saw it, and my imagination was ripe with possibility. The idea of love in all of its manifestations was something I regarded as quite fantasy-like, as it was a topic in which I clearly lacked real experience. However, that lack of experience lent itself to something greater on the page. "Sadie Stories" is oftentimes a very juvenile read, from the perspective of people who themselves romanticize the world they occupy.

Throughout the years I considered revising the story in an effort to mature it. I believe most certainly, as it is nearly ten years later, that my own skills as a writer have evolved and so has my spectrum of experiences with which to write from. As I aged and found myself letting go of those hyper-dramatizations that are inherent to the dreamy nature of youth, I ultimately discovered that Sadie Stories represented more to me than a simple novelization of fictional characters, places and events, but instead a monument to something I regarded as far more precious. Indeed, Sadie Stories comes from an innocent place- A time in my life when I was very much like many of the characters I was writing about.

Sadie Stories was not a novel I criticized and accosted with a red pen. Instead, the characters were my friends, the stories were revealed to me as I wrote them, entirely unplanned. When I sat down at that small word processor and began to write, I thought it was going to be a thriller about a voyeuristic teenager who becomes dangerously obsessed with the boy next door. While threads of that remained, it took on a life of its own and became something far more introspective- An inadvertent examination of life as I saw it from my bedroom window during those warm summer evenings while everyone else slept.

To edit Sadie Stories and attempt to make it into something it is not, nor was ever intended to be seemed blasphemous. While today, as any writer can attest, we consider many factors in our art of storytelling, some that can incidentally skewer the process of creativity. Books are, without question, commercial vehicles; from the first page there is a carefully executed architecture often years in the making. I do not dispute that, this too, is art of the finest measure. Professional writers painstakingly fine tune their work to ensure each sentence is delivered with maximum impact, not altogether unlike a painter who plans each stroke of his brush with faithful precision. Sadie Stories is not the work of a professional writer with a demographic in mind, or a sales quota to meet, but instead by a willful young insomniac who had been given a story that wanted to be told.

And here it is.

It is a world, perhaps not this world, through the eyes of someone who was dreaming it, untouched, pure. I find it interesting to go back and read it myself on occasion. Like a letter from a long lost friend, it makes me smile and remember...

I am pleased to have the unique opportunity to share the story as it was written and without outside influence. I believe part of the charm of Sadie Stories is its ability to be read unapologetically and with that adolescent abandon we shed all too quickly.

Zachary Zilba

March 5th 2009
