March, 1971

There is no other way to say it; I have been over the moon for the last six months and especially since Thanksgiving. I wish there were ways to put into words what I have been feeling and thinking that wouldn't sound just absolutely corny. Shit, it's like I've found the other side of me, what else can I say? Maybe I'm only sixteen, seventeen in June, maybe I don't know a fucking thing about life, but I do know the heart wants what the heart wants. What I mean is, I don't give a damn what the rest of world thinks about me because the only thing that matters is what Phillip thinks about me. Every time I think anything like that or say it our loud to myself, I still get a nervous thrill up my spine.

We are still able to get away to the cabin on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes we come up with an excuse for an overnight camp out, sometimes we just sneak off for part of the day. Whenever we are there, the rest of life can't intrude. It's funny, I know Phillip's body and his responses as well as I know my own now and still I learn something new about him every time we are together. I have to admit he seems to know me pretty damn well, too. When he wants to, he can bring me off just like that (snap). It is amazing. I only have two worries really. One is I don't think that anyone would approve of us if they knew how Phillip and I felt about each other, and the other is sometimes I wonder if Phillip feels as strongly toward me as I do to him. I guess we never really know completely what goes on in another person's head and heart, but sometimes the things I feel for him just overwhelm me. He makes my day just by showing up.

Man, this all sounds so mushy, but it's not. It's like this; with girls it's similar to working a puzzle with absolutely no clues, with Phillip and me it's as if we know the whole game, start to finish and everything in between. I'm not sure that makes any sense whatsoever. I also have to admit there is the element of the guilty pleasure to the whole relationship, that feeling of stepping over the line. I'm not used to doing things like that.

We just started spring practice in football the 1st of March. John Mark is not participating because he is a graduating senior, but he comes out to watch. Because of UIL rules we can't work out in pads in the spring, so we work out in shorts, shirts and helmets. Most of the times, we run full speed offensive and defensive drills, no hitting allowed. It just gives the coaches and players a chance to learn whole new schemes and new wrinkles on old ones. The thing about no hitting is that usually we end up going full contact regardless, until the coaches call us down. Sometimes that leads to some inadvertent injuries, which is what happened to Phillip on Wednesday. The 1st string offense was running some new plays Coach Wilkins came up with, specifically some hot routes for blitz pickups, and Phillip was the outlet receiver out of the backfield. Well, long story short, Dwight Jackson who was playing safety got tangled up with Phillip in the pattern and Phillip's ankle got rolled up. Dwight ended up on top of Phillip and his ankle was twisted under and out. It was really sort of gruesome. At first everybody thought it might be broken and they took Phillip to the emergency room. Later in the practice someone got word to Coach Wilkins that it was just a particularly nasty sprain. I've sprained both of my ankles before and there is not a more sickening pain in the world. When I see him I will tell Phillip my poor heart bleeds for him, hah!

John Mark and I drive over to see Phillip after practice. He's home with his leg up, his mom hovering over him as if he's about to leave this earthly plane. His ankle is nothing short of enormous. I tell him I bet he gets a big ass bruise as well. The orthopedist has told him he needs to stay off of it for a couple of days. He can use crutches only when necessary. I tell him I will get his homework for Thursday and Friday.

"No really, Luke, you don't have to do that. In fact I insist you not bring me any homework." Phillip says.

"I think it's a good idea if he does." Mrs. Stecker says and I think that settles that.

When his mom leaves the room, Phillip fixes me with a glare and says, "I can't tell you how happy I am you volunteered for the homework pickup routine, Luke."

"Look, Phillip, do you want to be a fucking philistine all your life?" I ask.

"It wouldn't bother me one bit."

"Both of you are dumber than any two tree stumps, so y'all could use all the help you can get. Perhaps we should hire tutors," the ever-opinionated John Mark interjects.

"If I weren't injured I would make you eat them words, boy. And I do mean boy." Phillip answers.

"Pussy," John Mark whispers in a particularly piquant summation, leaning in close so Phillip gets the full impact.

"Boys, boys, am I going to have to separate you?" I ask.

"Just tell your big brother to go pick on the Special Ed kids like he usually does," Phillip adds.

"And that would be why I am constantly on your ass, boy," Johnny fires back.

I say, "God, just shut the fuck up, you two."

When John Mark and Phillip get started with the put downs it is almost impossible to make them stop. It gets both fucking obnoxious and fucking monotonous; take your pick. I think they would trade insults until the cows come home, then they would probably trade insults with the fucking cows.

"You know, Luke, I think you brother likes to aggravate the lame and halt." Phillip says.

"Come on, stand up and say that." John Mark says, really starting to taunt Phillip.

"So what you're saying is you want a cripple to kick your ass." Phillip says.

"Well okay boys, I'm leaving now. I'll leave you guys to sort out this little spat." I say, turning and leaving the room. "Phillip, I'll bring your homework by on Saturday."

"Well, adios punk." John Mark says in departure.

"Okay, run away little girl." Phillip gets in the final shot.

We stop out in the living room and tell Mrs. Stecker goodbye. She thanks us for coming by to check on Phillip.

"We were happy to do it, Mrs. Stecker." John Mark says.

"Yes ma'am and I will bring him his homework." I add.

"Well thanks again, boys. I do appreciate it, even if Phillip does not."

Our farewells said John Mark and I depart. We go home to the good old Shelton household.

On Saturday, I sleep in a little. I awaken about 9:00 a.m. I can smell breakfast and coffee. I suspect my dad may have gone into the office for a few hours this morning. I get up and go to the bathroom for the necessary morning functions, then I wander down the hall to the breakfast room. I'm in my usual nightly attire, tee shirt and underwear, and when I enter the room mom and John Mark are sitting, talking. When they see me they begin to giggle.

"Man, are you awake yet?" John Mark asks.

"Yeah, what's so funny?"

"Your hair, it looks like you've been in a fight with a pair of sheep shears. Plus, nice outfit."

"Johnny, do not start with me."

I sit down at the table and mom brings me breakfast and some coffee. I love coffee; it may be the greatest invention since fire. I eat slowly, drink my coffee and listen to John Mark and mom. I ask mom for a glass of orange juice and she obliges. She brings it to me and as she places it in front of me, she leans down and kisses me on the forehead. This makes John Mark laugh, because he says she has left lipstick marks on me. He reaches over and wipes the smudge off with his hand.

"So, kiddo, what are your plans for the day?" Mom asks.

"Well I don't have any. I thought I would take Phillip his homework after lunch, that is, if I can borrow your car?"

"You certainly can." She answers.

I finish eating and have another cup of coffee. Then I take my dishes to the sink, rinse them off and place them in the dishwasher. I repair to the bathroom for a shower. After that I get dressed in a tee shirt, a blue work shirt and jeans. Mom has bought me a new pair of Fred Perry tennis shoes I particularly like so I put them on. After I am dressed I wander out to the living room. My dad has come home and he is sitting in his chair, having coffee and reading the newspaper.

"Hey, Luke, how are you this morning."

"I'm okay, daddy, and you?"

"Good, good. Old man Short had me up working this morning on his trust. You know I think sometimes that old man has more money than good sense, but what can I say, he's a good client."

I sit down on the couch and we trade small talk. We discuss the Cowboy's loss to the Colts in the Super Bowl, again. It was tough loss, 16-13, in a well-played game. There was an inopportune fumble by Duane Thomas into the end zone that really cost them. Dad asks me about school and spring practice. I tell him all things are going well.

Mom comes in around noon and tells us lunch is ready. We all sit down and eat. After lunch, I gather up the assignments I picked up from Phillip's classes and announce to my parents I am going to his house to deliver them. I call him first to make sure that he is there and he tells me to come on over.

When I get there I notice both of his parents' cars are gone. Phillip is sitting in the living room alone with his foot up on an ottoman watching TV. I sit down and ask him how it's going.

"Well, Luke, the orthopedist told me yesterday that the sprain is so bad it would have been better had I broken it. He said it would be about a month before I can really start to run on it. But he said that I should be back at school Monday. I can start stumping around on crutches tomorrow."

With that, he unwinds the ace bandage on his ankle. A dark bruise extends from the front around the outside of the ankle and down his foot almost to the toes. The ankle itself is just huge; maybe twice it's normal size. He rewraps his ankle and sits back.

"Holy shit, Phillip, that is gross." I say.

"Yeah, and it hurts like a motherfucker."

"Man, I bet. Where are your mom and dad today, Phillip."

"Mom had some shopping to do in Stackford this afternoon. She'll be back this evening. My dad told me this morning he had to go out to some guy's ranch, County extension business. He said there was a report the guy had cattle on his land that had altered brands. I don't expect him back for a while, either."

"Ranchers altering brands is a bigger problem around here than people let on." I add.

"You know, Luke, I think there is something we could do that would help me take my mind off this ankle." Phillip says.

I look at him straight in the eye. He smiles that crooked smile and I nod my head; no subtle hints, no coy allusions, there it is. I stand up and help him to his feet. He puts his arm around my shoulder, I put mine around his waist and we walk slowly, with him making little hop steps down the hall to his bedroom

Phillip's room is a typical kid's room; bed in the middle of the room against the front windows of the house, curtains behind the headboard, drawn against the outside light. There are some posters; Cowboy's team photo 1971, the members of Traffic and an old Army recruiting one. Directly across from the bed is his desk. On the desk is a photo of Phillip, John Mark and I, standing in that order in our football uniforms, dirty, sweaty and grinning. My mom shot it last year when we won our final game of the season and took the district title. John Mark and I have the same photo in our rooms. Mom gave Phillip a copy also. On the left wall is a little shelf with his stereo and albums, the speakers in either corner. On the right wall are two bookshelves with other photos, trophies and, of course, books. When we get into the room, Phillip takes a seat on the bed. I go over to the albums, pick out Traffic's "Low Spark of High Heeled Boys" and cue it up. The song 'Hidden Treasure' begins, I walk over to the bedroom door, close and lock it. I move over to where Phillip is sitting. He's dressed in a short-sleeved button up shirt and jeans, no shoes. I crouch in front of him and begin unbuttoning his shirt. He sits stock still while I do this and I can feel his eyes on me. He touches my arms at the biceps. I slip the shirt off of him, then I unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. He pushes up with his arms as I slide them off his hips. I am careful when I slide the legs of his jeans over his injured ankle. I see his erection under his white briefs and I relieve him of those too. His hard on points directly up to his belly and he leans back on his hands, sitting up. I stand up, kick off my shoes and socks and then remove my shirts, jeans and underwear. I move to the bed and slowly lower myself onto him. I kiss him as we descend to the bed, him beneath me, our chests meeting first, then our bellies and then our penises as we move downward. Phillip smells of soap from his shower and I can feel the warmth rising from his body. I move my mouth onto his ears, his neck, then his chest, where I linger making little kisses and bites around his nipples. His answer to this is some very erotic groans. He caresses me from my shoulders to the small of back. I then move slowly onto his belly and down to his dick. All our physical contact has been dick to dick, that is all I dream of or want. In all our time together neither of us has ever ventured into this territory, but today I want to. His cock is like a stone but the head is soft, the skin like silk and I take it fully into my mouth. Phillip gasps. The fluid coming from him tastes slightly salty and his smell is sort of like fresh bread. I work on him for a few minutes, then he reaches down and takes my face in his hands.

"I want you up here with me," he says, looking directly into my eyes.

I move back up onto his body and his dick, slick with my saliva, collides with my own sending little shock waves to my extremities. I can feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. We begin to wrestle and push our hips against one another, the slow build up beginning, stoking the fire. "Low Spark of High Heeled Boys" is playing on the stereo now and we move in time to the jazzy, trippy sensuality of that song. He places both of his hands on my butt and we press harder against each other.

There is a loud cracking, splintering noise. The door to Phillip's room flies open, almost off the hinges, the doorsill splitting off in a staccato exclamation of wood fracturing along the grain. A long fragment of the sill lands against the bed, then bounces to the floor. I immediately look to the doorway and see Phillip's father standing there, red faced, incensed and looking about ten feet tall.

I jump to my feet and Major Stecker enters the room completely. There is a vein protruding, bisecting his forehead that marks his pulse. I am suddenly terrified of this man. He looks completely around the bend, fists clinched by his side. I am also embarrassed by my nakedness in front of him. My heart is running like a rabbit chased by a ravening wolf. I am immobile, turned to stone.

He turns on Phillip. "I cannot believe you, you little faggot. How dare you do something like this in my house? I should beat you within an inch of your life. How can you do this, have you no fucking shame?"

This hits me like cold water and I step forward. I think to myself that this may not be the smartest thing I ever do, but here goes.

"Major Stecker," I say, raising my voice a little, "now wait a minute. I don't think this is Phillip's fault, sir, and I don't really think we are doing anything all that wrong here and...."

All of a sudden I feel a hard smack against my jaw and bright spots, sparklers, jump into my field of vision. I think, I didn't even see it coming, that son of a bitch backhanded me. The first thing to hit the floor is my ass. The back of my head ricochets against the edge of a bookshelf. I've never believed it when people use the old saying 'I saw stars' when they've been hit hard, but I do now. I can see Castor and Pollux and Altair and Spica. I shake my head and look up at Major Stecker. He is standing over me menacingly.

"You little punk. You don't know a goddamn thing. I should kick your ass, too."

I'm thinking he's made a pretty good first step but now I am pissed too, no, I am fucking furious. I jump to my feet to confront this crazy motherfucker. I think it may have to fall to me to kick his ass. I am ready to go nose to nose when Phillip stumbles up between us. He is crying.

"No, dad, please don't hit Luke again." He is unsteady on his feet but he maintains his position, separating us.

His dad puts his hand on Phillip's chest and pushes him to the bed.

"Just shut up Phillip. You disgust me, you and your little boyfriend here." Then Major Stecker turns to me and says, "You know, this is not the first time our little Phillip has been involved in something like this."

I look to where Phillip is sitting on the bed, his face downcast, looking at his feet. I can see his tears falling, splashing onto his legs. I feel helpless, I want to go to him and tell him I will fix this, but how can I? I'm trying to think fast, to salvage something.

Major Stecker grabs my pants and shirts off the end of the bed where I had laid them and throws them into my chest. " I want you to take your shit and get the hell out of my house."

"Major, I am afraid that if I leave something's going to happen to Phillip. I'm sorry, but I am worried about him." I am dancing as fast as I can here, trying to keep something terrible from happening, but I feel like I am trying to hold back the wind or the tide.

"Look Luke, you let me worry about Phillip, okay." the Major says loudly, "Now, you need to get the fuck out of my house, for good. Do you understand me, boy?"

I look over at Phillip and he raises his face to me. When he looks at me he gets a little pained grimace on his face.

"Phillip, do you want me to go?"

He nods at me.

"Neither Phillip nor you have any say on whether you stay or go Luke. I am telling you to take your shit and get out of my house! Am I clear?"

I dress hurriedly. I find my socks and shoes and put them on. The major is watching me with a disdain that suggests I may be carrying some particularly virulent form of leprosy. I move out of Phillip's room, looking back and my eyes meet his before I turn and leave. He looks lost, hopeless. I've got to do something, anything; I should stand up to his father, but I don't and I hate myself for my cowardice. I leave their house, stumbling on the front steps as I go. I just get in the car and go.

My mind is a nightmare jumble of conflict, wanting to go back, wanting to run away, wanting to run the car into a tree; I don't know what the fuck to do. I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror and I see the left side of my mouth is bleeding. I can see my lip is split on the outside and when I pull it down I see a cut on the inside of my mouth also. I pull some Kleenex from the glove compartment and wipe off the blood. I probe the left side of my mouth with my tongue and my teeth feel loose. Oh goddamn, I think, how will I explain this to my parents? I can see a little swelling already beginning. I also realize I am not wearing any underwear. I got dressed in such a hurry I forgot them. I drive the rest of the way home, in a panic, in a daze, praying to God that he will protect Phillip.

I turn into the street that leads to the driveway that circles in front of our house. As I roll onto the driveway I see my mom and dad outside working in the flowerbeds that are my mom's pride and joy. These beds run the length of the house on either side of the columned front porch. There are azaleas, boxwoods and hydrangeas. My mom has a special love of caladiums and she always gets my father to put them out in the spring. It's a tedious job, but when they come into full bloom with their pink, white and green leaves they are beautiful beyond description.

I wave at them as I make the left turn toward the garage at the rear of the house. I may be able to get into the house quickly without them seeing me. My heart is in my throat and I hope John Mark is out of the house too. I pull my mom's car into the garage, get out and go through the breezeway to the back door. I enter through the laundry room, which leads into the kitchen. I go to my bathroom and I begin to rummage through the linen closet to find the ice pack. Located, I take it to the kitchen and fill it with ice. I return to bathroom, lock the door and wash my face. I sit on the closed toilet and hold the ice pack to my face. My mind is in absolute disarray. I get up and look at my face in the mirror. I have the old 'deer in the headlights' look, as my dad says. My jaw is swollen and it hurts when I open my mouth. There is a bruise beginning to make its presence known. Fuck! How will I explain this one to my parents? I sit back down and hold the cold pack to my jaw. My whole face is beginning to ache; I hope my jaw isn't broken. I wonder what is going on at Phillip's. If I think too much about this, I will lose it. I have got to come up with something; a story for my jaw and a plan to help Phillip. God, where do I start?

I leave the bathroom and go to my bedroom. I go in, lock the door, lay down on my bed and hold the ice pack to my face.

The next thing I hear is knocking on my door. I must have fallen asleep. I hear my mom's voice. "Luke, honey, are you in there."

"Yes ma'am, I am." Owwwww, fuck, it hurts to move my mouth. I sit up. My neck is stiff, my jaw hurts and I can feel a knot on the back of my head where it hit the bookshelf. Crap, I feel like I've been in a fight.

"Dinner is going to be ready in just a while, why don't you come on to the living room."

How long have I been asleep? I've lost at least a couple of hours. I get up and go to the door. I might as well face the music.

I open the door and there's my mom. Her face falls when she sees me.

"What happened to you?" She asks.

"I fell at Phillip's and I sort of broke the fall with my face. I hit a bookcase." God, I hate lying to my mom.

She looks at me skeptically. "Are you sure that's what happened? You look like you've been in a fight. You've got a bruise that runs the entire length of your jaw"

"Yes mom, I'm absolutely certain that is what happened. It probably looks worse than it feels."

"You're sure you and Phillip didn't have some kind of falling out."

Oh mom, there was some fall out all right. It was sort of nuclear, if you know what I mean.

"No ma'am. We are just fine."

I walk with her to the living room where my dad and John Mark are sitting watching the evening news. Both look at me as I enter the room and they notice my face.

"Well, Luke, I hope the other guy looks worse than you do." Johnny remarks.

"Humorous, funny boy." I say.

"So what's the explanation for the face, Luke?" Dad asks.

I give the same story I gave mom and they buy it, at least I think they do. I sit and watch the news with them, my mind in a fucking turmoil. I don't hear anything that is coming out of the TV and whenever my dad or Johnny ask me something, my initial response is 'Huh?" and then they have to repeat themselves.

Mom finally, mercifully, calls us to dinner. The three of them fall into the regular dinnertime routine, talking, laughing, and eating. My appetite has taken a brief vacation. Besides, it hurts when I try to chew. I eat a little bit to keep suspicion to a minimum. When I am through, I ask to be excused and return to my room.

After a while, John Mark comes in and sits down on the bed where I am sitting, propped up against my pillows.

"So, guy, are you okay? Are you sure you didn't get into a fight or something?"

"Yes, I am sure. I'm doing alright."

"Well, you sure are quiet tonight. Not your usual goofy self."

"I think I kind of knocked myself silly." I tell John Mark.

"Man, if you get any sillier we'll have to commit you." John Mark opines.

"Johnny, for a dickhead you are hilarious."

John Mark punches me in the chest before I have time to cover up. I guess I'm just not ready for the sucker punches today. He gets up and goes to his room.

After a while I get up and undress. I realize again I have no underwear on. Somehow this day turned into a complete fucking disaster. I get some briefs out of my chest of drawers and put them on, I don't put on a tee shirt. I slip between the covers; the sheets cool against my skin. I lie here and wonder what is going on with Phillip. I fall asleep thinking about him.

When I wake up I am lying on my right side, my face on a pillow. The first thing I notice is that my head hurts. Also, my neck is stiff, my jaw hurts and the back of my head is throbbing. Shit, I didn't think that bastard hit me so hard. I can tell it's still early because there is no light coming through my windows. I roll over slowly and look at the clock on my bedside table. It tells me it is 5:16 a.m. I get up and retrieve the ice pack, which is now full of water, and pad quietly to the kitchen. I fill the pack with ice, close the top and press it against my aching jaw. There is a cabinet in the kitchen where my mom keeps vitamins and aspirin. I find the aspirin and shake out four. I crunch them up in my mouth while I pour myself a glass of water. I wash the gritty acid taste out of my mouth. I walk into the living room and sit in my dad's chair. It is a big leather chair, the same one he's had forever. I can remember sitting in this chair when my feet didn't touch the floor. From his vantage point in this part of the living room there is a bank of windows that extend along the back of the house and then make a right turn at the kitchen. I can see the backyard in the dark. It is a big yard with many trees and they look vaguely menacing in the gloom of early morning. As I sit here in my underwear I wonder; what is it that Phillip and I have done that is so wrong? His dad looked like he was ready to kill me and hide the body. My parents and I have never discussed this kind of thing. Well, I mean, my dad had the birds and bees talk with me when I was a kid, but the rest of it I'm unclear on. This is the first time anything like this has happened to me and while I know that boys are not supposed to make out with boys, it just felt right. I wonder if there is something wrong with me. I worry about Phillip and how his father will take this out on him. Then, a new thought. What if Major Stecker tells my mom and dad? I get an ice cube down my spine feeling and I physically shiver. Oh shit, I think my world may be ending and the little world Phillip and I had together is on the ropes, maybe over. My heart is pounding and I am scared. I wish I was still a little kid and could go get in bed with John Mark. When I was little, in fact until I was about twelve, I was terrified of the dark. It wasn't so bad when I went to bed at night, but if I woke in the night I would go into a panic. I would always end up in John Mark's room and he would let me sleep with him. I would get up close to him and he would put his arm around me. For a lot of years that meant safety to me. I wish I could have that right now. Instead I get up and go back to my room. Lying down, I share the bed with my fear only.

I wake up again around 8:00 a.m. I take a shower and get ready for the day. I'm going to call Phillip later today and find out if there is anything we can do. If I can't talk to him today, I know he'll be back in school tomorrow. Mom and dad are up and preparing to go to church. Mom asks me if I want to go and I decide it wouldn't be a bad idea. It will take my mind off things until I call Phillip. Mom fixes us all a quick breakfast; even John Mark is going with us today. After breakfast, I go to my room and start dressing. I put on a dress shirt and suit pants. I pick out a tie and walk to John Mark's room. He has always tied my tie for me, so I've never had an inclination to learn. I put the tie under the collar of my shirt and fix the ends. John Mark is about finished and he looks pretty spiffed up.

"Johnny, would you tie my tie for me, please?"

"Luke, you are helpless. What are you going to do when I go to school?"

"Mmm, I guess I'll have to learn how."

He faces me, does the little in and out with the ends of the tie, makes it straight and then pats it to my chest. "Nice face there. You know you look uglier than usual with that mark on you."

"Gee, John, you say the sweetest things."

"Well someone has to keep you in line." John Mark looks me square in the eye and asks, "Are you sure everything is okay, buddy? Is there anything we need to talk about?"

I wish for a second that I could tell him everything, but I'm afraid, no, I am scared shitless that he would be mortified and would hate me. And right now, as fragile as my grip on things seems, I couldn't take that. Not from John Mark.

"No, I'm fine. Let's go to church."

And with that I walk back to my room, grab my suit coat, put it on and go to the living room to wait for everyone else.

At church I am in a fog. We all sit in our usual place, sing the hymns and listen to the pastor give his sermon. I have no idea what he is talking about. On the way out, we see most of our family friends and I get some odd looks because of my face. I shake hands with the pastor, drift out to the car and we go home.

After lunch I go upstairs to the game room; it's the place the Shelton kids have always gone to get out of our parents' hair and hang out. We have our own phone up here and I need the privacy right now. John Mark is out with some of his buddies and I'm here alone. I steel myself and make the call to Phillip. The phone rings twice, three times and then four.

"Hello." I recognize Mrs. Stecker's voice so I plunge right in.

"Mrs. Stecker, Luke Shelton. Could I please speak to Phillip?" I ask.

There is no answer. Dead silence. My stomach starts to feel like lead.

Then, "Luke," Mrs. Stecker answers, "Phillip does not need to talk to you."

"But couldn't I ask him if he wanted to talk to me?"

"Frankly, Luke, I'm astonished that you've called. Please don't call back," and then a click.

I sit there with the receiver in my hand staring at it like it some relic of a lost civilization, not knowing quite what to make of it. I place it back in the cradle of the phone, stand up and go to the upstairs windows and look out where my mom and dad are working in the front garden, diligently planting spring flowers and plants. I have no idea what to do next. I can only hope to speak to Phillip at school.

The next day at school, no Phillip. I go through the motions, making class, working on assignments and at the end of the day, going to spring practice. I am out of sync in practice, doing everything ass backwards, generally getting in the way and mucking up the works. Finally practice is over. I take a quick shower, dress and go home.

When I get home, I dash back to my room, drop off my books and other stuff. I go up to the game room taking the steps two at a time and grab the phone. This time the dread of calling is almost too much. I feel like I'm putting on a blindfold and standing in front of a firing squad. I call Phillip and the phone rings several times.

"Hello," Mrs. Stecker answers again.

"Hello, Mrs. Stecker, Luke Shelton. I don't want you to hang up on me, please. I just would appreciate it if you would let me briefly speak to Phillip." I say in a rush.

This time there is no silence. "Luke, Phillip does not need to speak to you. He is in his room and he is not allowed to speak to anyone, especially you."

"Please, Mrs. Stecker, could you make an exception just for a couple of minutes."

"Luke, I'm only going to tell you this once. Do not ever call here again. If you do I will tell your parents everything, do you understand?"

I feel like I've been hit between the eyes with a mallet. Literally stunned.

Finally I stammer, "Yes ma'am, but I don't think you are being..." and I hear the click.

I wish I could say I am distraught, but I don't think that quite covers what I am feeling. I can only hope that Phillip will be allowed to come back to school in the next couple of days.

The rest of the week goes by in a blur. Phillip does not return to school. Every day I debate with myself whether I should call or not. I am at my wits end; I am not sure what I can do, if anything. In fact I am frantic. A few people ask me at school where Phillip is and if he's okay, or if his ankle injury was more serious than anyone thought. I can only answer I don't know.

At Friday practice while we are going through our chalk talk, Coach Wilkins says he has a little announcement.

"Gentlemen, I spoke with Phillip Stecker's father today and it appears Phillip will be moving back to Dallas. So I guess that means we will have to find us a new starting tailback."

I find myself staring down at my hands wondering who has turned off the lights. My brain has been unplugged; I cannot get emotional, I cannot let anyone know, this is fucking awful, Christ, is Major Stecker insane or just spiteful, is this my fault? My head feels like I am receiving transmissions from outer space and I'm having trouble deciphering them. When we go out to practice I am totally useless, disconnected from the world. Coach Wilkins shouts himself hoarse telling me to get my head in the game. I'm sorry coach; my head is a balloon that got blown away in a very high wind.

That night I dream of him as he was that Saturday after Thanksgiving. He awakens from his slumber, sees me looking at him and assures me it is okay. Then he tells me what I've been waiting to hear, we move toward one another and then I wake up. It all seems so real that I reach out for him and then I know he is not there, my bed is empty. I want to cry and then I do, inconsolably. The dream has aroused me and I have an erection that will not go away. I masturbate but when I come it does not bring me release; instead it makes me feel as if I am bleeding from some hidden wound. I feel like I've been opened up from my chest to my navel the pain of loss is so sharp. I look at my clock and it is almost 4:00 a.m. I go to the bathroom to clean myself up and I look at myself in the mirror. I don't recognize the face there. I am a coward; I've allowed someone to take from me what I loved best and I didn't fight for it. I am worse than a coward. I walk back to my room, find my sweats and my tennis shoes. I dress silently, move quietly out of the house into the dark and I run, from me, from my memories.

May, 1971

It is two weeks to the day until my birthday. I've been stumbling around in a sort of waking nightmare. The dream returns to me every night with the same effect, but now I don't try to relive the moment by myself. It does not gratify me; it does not give me any pleasure. I must be the only teenager in the world that does not enjoy this simple act. Instead I run; in the morning when I awaken and in the evening before bed. I am angry with Major Stecker, I am angry with Mrs. Stecker and I am angry with me. I think if I run long enough and far enough perhaps I can catch up to what I've lost.

I am ready for school this morning. Mom has made breakfast for dad, John Mark and I. I'm not interested in food, but I eat enough to placate mom. John Mark and I get ready to go to school. We've always walked to school since it is less than a half-mile away. This morning as we prepare to leave, my dad tells me he will drop me off at school.

"Luke, would you ride with me this morning? I'll drop you off at school on the way. I just wanted to talk to you briefly."

"Okay, sure dad." I answer.

He does this occasionally. I would bet he wants to talk to me about my attitude lately or why I've been moping around. I do a quick inventory of excuses and get ready for the ride. I walk out to the car with my dad and we drive off toward school. As we approach, my dad does not slow down but instead keeps going past the school.

"Uh, daddy, you need to drop me off."

"Luke, there's something we need to discuss. You can be late to school today," my dad says giving me his you're in deep shit look.

Oh fuck, I think, what have I done? My stomach turns to ice, my balls contract into my body and a feeling of dread drops onto me like a thundercloud.

He makes a right on the old McKenzie road heading out into the country. He hasn't begun to speak yet, he looks deep in thought, pensive would be the word. We get to the part of McKenzie road where the woods start to overtake the town and then he begins.

"Luke," my father says and I turn toward him, "do you want to tell me what was going on between you and Phillip?"

I turn away and look at the trees rushing past the car. It seems all the oxygen has been sucked out of the atmosphere, I stop breathing, I think my heart has stopped and I get a little dizzy. Oh God, I think I'm going to pass out.

I turn back to my father and ask, "What do you mean about Phillip and me? I'm not sure I know what you're getting at."

"So, are you going to add lying to the things you've been doing wrong, Luke?"

My eyes are stinging, I feel like crying but somehow I hold onto control. I stay silent. I do not want my father to be upset or angry with me. And he's starting to sound that way.

"Are you going to be honest with me, Luke, or are you going to try to explain it away?"

"I don't know exactly what you want to know, Daddy."

"Okay, if that's how this is going to go, let me start. Major Stecker came by office yesterday and told me what he found you boys doing. And he said he suspects it has been going on a while. Now, do you understand exactly what I want to know?"

My heart falls to my stomach and they begin a quick descent to somewhere, the center of the earth, I guess.

"Daddy, I, we, uhhh," I stutter, "what I mean is, Major Stecker did catch us together. I don't know what you want to know. Do you want to know what we were doing, or what?"

"No, actually Luke I'm not sure I have the stomach for the precise details. I want to know what the hell were you thinking? I can't believe you would let yourself do something like that. Do you understand?"

"Something like what, Daddy? I mean what we were doing didn't hurt anyone, did it? We didn't hurt each other."

"I'm not sure I'm getting over to you, Luke. Major Stecker was very angry, but he said he doesn't want anyone to know. He said he told me because I had a right to know what was going on. He also made it very clear he does not want you boys to see one another again and I agree with him. Under the circumstances and considering what the two of you have done, I think that is a small sacrifice."

A small sacrifice. Does my father even understand what he is talking about?

"You know, Dad," I say, getting a little pissed myself, "I picked up right away on the fact Major Stecker was angry when he backhanded me. He knocked me flat. Did he tell you that?"

"Yes he did, Luke, and he apologized to me. He said he lost his temper and he's sorry for that. But I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same thing in that situation."

I swallow and it makes a dry click in my throat. I feel totally lost, adrift, bereft.

"Daddy, I'm worried about Phillip. I'm not sure what his Dad has done and he's moved away and I..." I almost say I love him, but I think it may be a mistake to say it, so I say, "I care about Phillip and I'm afraid for him. I mean I've been half out my mind the past month and a half about this..."

My dad jams on the brakes, the car sliding onto the shoulder of the road. I hear gravel clatter under the car like a burst of rain on a tin roof. I didn't put on my seatbelt because I thought my dad was going to drop me off at school so I fly forward into the dashboard. Luckily my reflexes are good because I get my right arm up and deflect some of the energy, but my forehead goes bang against the dash.

My dad turns toward me, his eyes flashing angrily at me. He wants to yell at me I can tell, but he restrains himself.

"Goddammit, Luke, don't you understand? What you boys did was wrong, it was weak and it is morally unacceptable. No, you do not care for that boy. You two succumbed to a temptation that you should not have. And I'm particularly disappointed in you because you are attempting to defend what you have done and you knew better. I don't know if I can ever trust your judgment or behavior again. I am ashamed of you and you should be ashamed, too."

I feel like he has punched me. In fact I wish he had. I think the better part of me has gone over the edge of the world and I can't reach him. More than anything else in the world I want my father to help me rescue Phillip but he won't. The urge to cry is almost overwhelming but I can't let him see me do that. You see, I love my father; I love him entirely, without question. I've always wanted to please him, to be a good boy. I've always had good grades, done well in sports and been well behaved in large part because it pleased him. I don't mean I did it to win his love because I've always known he loved me no matter what. At least I thought so. My heart has hurt so much lately it has been an actual physical pain and now it seems to turn to vapor, rising out of me leaving only an agonizing wound. I will not cry. I want him to know I am a good boy, not a weak one. But I know I am weak because I am a coward.

"Okay, Daddy, I understand. I am sorry and I will do everything I can to make it up to you." Yet I am not sorry, but I am overcome with sorrow. I wish Phillip were here.

"Luke, you are going to have to work very hard to regain my trust. I am not going to tell your mother about any of this. I think it would hurt her very much."

I lose my breath and I lean forward, head between my knees. It only gets worse, my mom, oh God please, if there is a God, please make this stop.

"Luke, son, are you okay?"

Slowly I sit up, dry eyed and a little closer to controlled.

"Yes sir, I'm fine. Can you take me to school now?"

"Yes, as long as we're totally clear on everything."

"Yes sir," I say, "crystal clear."

He puts the car in gear and does a u-turn and we head back to town, to school.

I think to myself, how fucked up is this, how fucked up am I? Please God, I beg, please help Phillip, please help me and please have mercy on us.