“I’m sorry” I told him. “The white Plymouth, and my father …”
I shut the door and walked away.
I gave Donna to the girls playing jacks in the stairwell and asked them to watch her for just a little while. They seemed like nice kids and they calmed Donna down saying, “Hush, baby, hush,” and they gave her a Starburst. I walked down the stairwell and out onto the street and toward the white Plymouth, which was parked beside the Buick. Det. Thomas got out. He was holding a briefcase. “Hello there, Toby,” he said and stepped toward me.
“I want to see your badge.”
He showed me his badge.
“Who are you?”
I was shaking. He put his badge away.
“I know about Compton.”
“And I know about you.”
“You don’t know a thing.”
He opened up his briefcase.
In it was an eight-by-ten black-and-white photo of me and Juice dealing underneath the water tower where the shots had gone off at the school the week before.
“You are an accessory.”
“And you’re full of shit.”
“What if I show this to your father, Toby Sligh?”
“Leave my dad out of this.”
“He’s shown me things, Toby.”
“What things?”
“Just … things. I know things about your father.”
A police car passed. Det. Thomas tensed up. I thought of shouting out. Then I thought of Juice’s father.
“Leonard Compton’s the biggest crack dealer in the city.”
“You’re a bastard!”
I was crying. Det. Thomas looked embarrassed.
“Now we’re gonna make a deal so I won’t have to show you the other photographs that I’ve got in this briefcase.”
“What kinda deal?”
“It’s about the drugs, Toby. The drugs you and Juice stashed away at your mother’s.”
“How do you know we stashed the drugs at my mother’s?”
“We just know, Toby. You can call it intuition.”
The two little girls who’d been playing in the stairwell emerged holding Donna and set her down on the ground.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know where the drugs are.”
“And if I don’t tell you?”
“This goes to the D.A. This picture. With testimony from a P.E. teacher, a teacher who will testify. And the other kids they busted.”
Donna, who saw me, started stumbling toward me. A car was tearing by and I caught her in my arms.
“Juice’ll go to prison.”
“But you won’t, Toby Sligh.”
“And my mother?”
“She doesn’t have to know a thing about it. Just tell us where the drugs are and we’ll go there and get them. She won’t know what hit her. We’re good at this, Tobe.”
“You’re so full of shit!”
Donna slapped my mouth.
“Watch your language, Toby,” Det. Thomas said to me.
“I know you’re a dealer,” I said. “Juice told me!”
“Juice is a liar, and he’ll take you down with him.”
“What if I told you to go fuck yourself?”
“I wouldn’t do that, Toby. I know things about your father.”
“What things?”
“Just … things.”
He took off his sunglasses. He was staring at me. His hand was in the briefcase.
“We have pictures… .”
“What pictures?”
“I said we have pictures… .”
“Of what?”
“Of your father … and your mother, Toby Sligh.”
I could feel my heart pounding. I wanted to hit him. His hand was in the briefcase. Donna started crying.
“Would you maybe like to see them?”
I felt sick at my stomach.
“Would you like to see some pictures of your parents, Toby Sligh?”
I swallowed my fear as a cop car passed. Helicopters hovered. Det. Thomas was twitching.
“Excuse me,” he said. He took some chocolate from his pocket. He ate it in great bites. His body stopped twitching.
“You keep your fucking pictures! I don’t wanna see ’em!”
“Wise choice, Toby. The truth is always hard.”
“When do you want the drugs?”
“I’ll get them myself.”
“You’re not going near my mother!”
“That’s the deal, Toby Sligh. You tell us where the drugs are, we get ’em, deal’s done. Your mother is safe. No more crosstown traffic. ”
“You’re such a fucking liar!”
“I’m the truth, Toby Sligh.”
“I saw what you did to Juice back in that alley!”
“I could do it to you.”
I stepped away from him.
“I’ll give you till midnight Monday, Toby Sligh.”
And when he had gone I sat down on the curb with my head in my hands, beside Donna: we were crying. When he finally came out, Juice stood over us, shaking.
“Shoulda never gone in there, Toby Sligh,” he said to me.
Once, as a kid in my father’s garage I was digging through a drawer when I found a tiny key. I knew that the key had to open up something, so I tried every lock in the shop I could find. I tried the big lock on my father’s metal toolbox. I tried the smaller lock on a file cabinet. And then I found a strongbox in the back of a cabinet underneath hoses and corroded air filters. I took out the box, and I stuck the key in it, and I opened the box, and I found some glossy pictures. In them my parents were naked and smiling. I didn’t understand that they had been making love. I looked the pictures over, then I put the box away. And for all I knew, the key was still there, in the same office drawer, and so was the box. I knew these were the pictures Det. Thomas had stolen. I didn’t need a stranger to show them to me. I’d already seen my parents naked and smiling. They were in love. Det. Thomas made it dirty. And if there were other pictures, I didn’t want to see.
Juice dropped me off in front of St. Osyth’s. We didn’t say a word. He got his Porsche and drove away. Donna waved at me through the window of Baby. I felt a little like I’d never see her again.
Outside 1111, Sr. Cindy was waiting with my things in a bag, and she said, “Toby, go.”
“Can I see Fr. Scarcross?”
“He’s still in a coma.”
I took my things and looked at her and turned and walked away.
We don’t cry—Tim and I,
We are far too grand —
But we bolt the door tight
To prevent a friend —
Then we hide our brave face
Deep in our hand —
Not to cry—Tim and I —
We are far too grand —
Not to dream—he and me —
Do we condescend —
We just shut our brown eye
To see to the end —
Tim—see Cottages —
But, Oh, so high!
Then—we shake—Tim and I
And lest I — cry —
Tim—reads a little Hymn —
And we both pray —
Please, Sir, I and Tim —
Always lost the way!
Sr. Cindy had put Eli’s books in my bag, and I’d stumbled on a poem in a volume by Dickinson. I read it outside my mother’s apartment. All her lights were off. She was sleeping or had gone. I put the book back in the bag where I’d found it and went to Mom’s place and tapped on the door. I wanted to tell her about Det. Thomas. I wanted to see her. I wanted to talk. But when nobody answered I snuck around back to the crucified Corvair, got Juice’s stash, and left.
At the Sacred heart rectory I found an old Jesuit and told him I’d left my books and school things in the chapel. He lent me a key and I entered the chapel and went to the altar and stood before the tabernacle. With the key I’d removed from the archbishop’s towel, I opened up the tabernacle a
nd hid the drugs in there. The stash contained cocaine and $87,000. There wasn’t any gun. I looked at Jesus and I left.
Back home, in the driveway, I spied a soft light, a soft light spilling through the curtains of our house. The power was out, I could tell. It was candles. I prayed it was my parents. I prayed that they’d come home.
We must die—by and by—
Clergymen say —
Tim — shall—if I — do —
I— too—if he —
How shall we arrange it —
Tim — was — so — shy?
Take us simultaneous—Lord—
1 — “Tim”— and — Me!
Our house smelled of sulfur and smoldering wax as I opened the door and stepped into the foyer. On the carpet, surrounding a pair of crumpled jeans, were three candles anchored to three china plates. Beside them a note read: “Blow me out, Toby.” I did as the note said and saw, down the hall, three more candles surrounding a shirt. I went over to them, knelt down before them, and blew them out, too. Again, I was in darkness. Then, at the entrance to my mom and dad’s bedroom, I saw three more candles and a pair of underwear. I could hear somebody moving on my parents’ big bed. A tape recorder played melancholy ’50’s music:
At last , I’ve awakened —
See what you’ve done?
All I can do
Is pack up and run —
Now I know the rules —
Find yourself another fool… .
And I knelt before the candles and blew them out, too. When I did, the music stopped. The house was in darkness. There were no more candles. I heard the boxsprings creak. “Toby,” a voice said. I took a step forward. “Toby,” it whispered. “Toby … Toby Sligh …” And almost as if I were moving underwater I felt a liquid hand hover underneath my waist and move to my fly and unbutton it slowly as ghost fingers peeled off my shirt like shedding skin. I stood in my underwear. The curtains were blooming. And someone was breathing in the darkness on the bed.
“Toby,” the voice said. “Come to me, Toby …” I took off my underwear and moved toward the voice.
“Ian—”
“Toby … Don’t talk… . Come here —”
I lay down beside him on the mattress. We were naked. He put his arms around me. He kissed my neck and chest.
“We’ve got to talk, Ian—”
“You feel so good, Toby. I’ve wanted to hold you like this for so long.
“Please, Ian—”
“Toby …”
His body was against me, on top of me, moving, in the darkness, in the night.
“I love you, Tobias. I’ve wanted to tell you—forever. I love you. I love you so much….”
And there wasn’t any noise. The night had gone quiet. There was only the sound of the wind in the palms. There was only the sound of our two bodies moving, skin against skin, and the wind in the fronds.
“Toby …”
“You lied to me, Ian—”
“Don’t talk… .”
“You said you would meet me at Castiglione’s and—”
“Shhh! I love you….”
“You were dancing with my mother! I saw you! I saw you there, kissing her, Ian—”
“Come here, Tobias… .”
His face was on my face. His lips were on my lips. I was stiller than a stone.
“Kiss me… .”
His tongue danced across my dry lips. I was crying. He sighed and he kissed both my eyes.
Little Lamb
Here I am;
Come and lick
My white neck;
Let me pull
Your soft Wool;
Let me kiss
Your soft face… .
Away in the night we could hear sirens singing. Our bodies lay together. Our skin was whispering.
“Don’t cry, Tobias. I love you. Believe me…”
“I want to believe you! And so many things! But I saw you with my mother—”
“We were just playing, Toby! Your mother’s my friend! There’s so much you don’t know….”
“Then tell me!”
“Not now … Do you love me, Tobias?” He was asking me questions; each came with a kiss. “Do you love me? Do you need me? Can you live without me, Toby? If I tell you the truth, will it tear us apart?”
“I have to know, Ian—”
“You don’t have to know. It’s nice in the darkness. Isn’t it, Tobias?”
“This bed is my parents’—”
“We could always go to my house.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Just kiss me, Tobias …”
I opened my mouth and his tongue tasted mine. His body was inside me. I felt so alive …
“Please, Ian—”
“Toby …”
He was moving inside me. We were hard. We were close. The sheets were whispering.
“We’ve got to talk, Ian—”
“Toby, don’t you love me?”
“Ian, I … love you! I do! You know I do!”
And I didn’t surrender so much as give in to everything I’d wanted from the day that we first met. His words, his hands, the nearness of our bodies, our tongues, our souls together—it was love, that was all. Everything was pure and all the pain had been suspended—all doubt, all sadness, all fear, all memory. There was no need to talk, no need to ask questions. Everything was answered in the riddle of our bodies joined together there against the very vastness of the night. And I think I knew then, before I could have known it, that this was the last time that I would ever love him—the last time that I would take his tongue inside my mouth, and hold it there, and taste it there, and taste his kiss, and the salt of our bodies; that this was the last time desire would rage inside the sad, sweet, corruptible, mad cages of our skin; that, in a night’s time, Ian Lamb would desert me— his body, his soul, his love, and his lies.
“Ian!”
“Don’t talk! … Say that you love me!”
“I love you!”
“I love you!”
“Ian—!”
“Toby Sligh—!”
“I—!”
But already it was over. We were sticky with each other. We lay tangled and untangling… .
So the leaving had begun.
In the morning, when I woke up, the house was full of light. I turned to wake Ian and I saw my mother standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching Ian sleep. We were absolutely naked. My mother turned away. “Mom,” I said, “wait.” She walked out the bedroom door.
Monday morning in chapel the Rev. Anthony McDuffy, S.J., made a special appearance before the senior class. “There has been some speculation,” McDuffy began, his face already a full florid blush, “that two unidentified students at Sacred Heart High will be attending tonight’s senior prom as a couple. While the faculty council and myself have been unable to ascertain whether this is the truth or an elaborate hoax, let me say on behalf of the entire community that this sort of incident would seriously impair the dignity of tonight’s ceremony, and that though we do not mean to chastise any seniors for what they feel may be their initial attempts to investigate a contemporary lifestyle option, we would seriously advise the concerned parties to refrain from any display of this nature, and to understand that the sternest disciplinary measures will be taken against any students attempting to make such an exploration at the expense of the dignity of Sacred Heart High. With that said, we would like to add that we are sure that this is merely another in a series of practical jokes that have become something of a tradition this time of year; in fact, we have informed the local media as such. And we hope that this incident, fabricated or otherwise, will not impede the senior class’s ability to enjoy what should be a wonderful alcohol and drag—that is, alcohol and drug-free evening. And we would like to add that immediately following exams the senior class will be treated to a pizza-and-Pepsi party with the graduating class from our sister school, the Holy Dames Academy, in honor of your hard work, and a pr
om well earned.”
Principal McDuffy received a standing ovation—complete with catcalls, dogbarks, and wolfwhistles. Ian, surprisingly, was the first to stand. Only Juice remained seated; he was staring at me.
In Ethics, while Zipser handed out the exams, I chewed on my eraser and cast a glance at Juice. He was sitting there, staring, his face in his hands. And he was talking to himself, as if he were his own confessor. When nobody was looking—no one except me—he took a pink pill from his pocket and gulped it. Juice rested his head on his desk and sighed deeply. Then he looked at me. I’ll never forget it. I had to turn away. It was the look of an accuser.
Essay question no. 3: Should homosexuals be permitted in the military? Defend your opinion using historical analogy, philosophical method, and personal experience.
Homosexuals should not be permitted in the military because their inclusion would result in a weakening of morale that would work to the detriment of the American armed forces and inevitably to the detriment of society in general.
Ancient Greece condoned and even encouraged homosexual behavior. Though the concept of Platonic love is arguably asexual, Plato’s ideal of masculine friendship characterized a culture in which homosexual practice ran the gamut from the latent to the blatant. Rome, patterning itself after the Greek model, encouraged homosexuality and other aberrations; and, like Greece, Rome eventually collapsed. Though homosexuality would appear to be an enduring cultural and historical phenomenon, the examples of ancient Greek and Roman societies suggest that such practices, though common, are destructive.
Toby's Lie Page 17
