Dream Boy

by Jim Grimsley

  They study. Roy sits on his bed. In his own house he behaves less bravely and dares less than in Nathan’s, and Nathan knows better than to get too close. He spreads his science textbook across his lap. He peers into the closet, through the shadowed crack in the door. He studies the poster of a famous baseball player. Roy murmurs aloud as he reads.

  He and Roy take long walks, over the whole farm, till Nathan understands the scope of Roy’s world. The sullen houses in the bare field become their landscape, and they wander around the pond, memorize the graveyard, visit the Indian mound, pick apples in the orchard, search out deer in the surrounding woods, hunt for foxes and squirrels with Roy’s 22-gauge, or simply lie on beds of leaves with their shirts open and their hands ripening on each other’s bare skin. Nathan learns that Roy will kiss but he will not kneel in front of Nathan as Nathan will kneel in front of him. Nathan learns that he himself is somehow different from Roy, governed by other laws.

  Always the admonition is the same. You can’t say anything about this to anybody else. You can’t do this with anybody else but me. Okay? Followed by the cloud of guilt, the moment when Roy can no longer bring himself to look at Nathan or to touch him. The guilt clouds him worse each time.

  One Friday afternoon, without warning, Roy asks Nathan, “Do you want to go riding around tonight?”

  They are assembling their books on the school bus. Roy has headed down the metal steps, then pauses to ask the question. Turning almost casually.

  Roy has always seen his girlfriend on Fridays. Nathan has never asked, but he knows.

  “I need to ask my mom.”

  Roy shrugs.

  Quickly, lest the offer be withdrawn. “I’m sure she’ll say it’s okay.”

  Roy shrugs again, but in a more friendly way.

  “Come with me while I ask.”

  The request, unusual, reverberates. Roy considers, momentarily uncomfortable. A slow change takes place as Nathan watches; a new thought occurs to Roy and a smile spreads outward. “She’ll like that, won’t she?” he asks.

  Crossing the yard, they are aware of each other, as if either of them could contain, for the moment, the consciousness of both. They are echoing in each other through the mown grass, they are feeling the freshness of air on Roy’s shoulders, the brush of the rose bush against Nathan’s sleeve; they are each feeling each. Into the door they walk, and Nathan’s mom is in the kitchen as always, dark-eyed, sitting at the table reading a novel by Emily Loring. She closes the book with a dreamy sigh as the boys enter, and focuses on them with effort; and for a moment Nathan feels a tremor of chill. She is hardly in this kitchen at all, she has fled somewhere else, dreaming. But this blankness quickly passes. She returns to the room from Emily Loring’s world and adjusts her eyeglasses across the bridge of her nose.

  Nathan is preparing his request and nearly has the words in perfect order when Roy seizes the moment unexpectedly. “Please, ma’am, I was hoping you might let Nathan go out riding with me tonight.”

  “Well I knew you boys wanted something the way you busted in here like you did.” Her expression is gentle and her focus on Nathan soft. “You want to go riding, son?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You know your daddy don’t like you to run around.”

  Nathan makes no response. But she smiles as if he has answered her with something pleasant. Brittleness pervades her voice and manner, the sense that she may suddenly say something more shrill. “Well, you never go anywhere except church, I know that’s the truth.” Brushing her face as if hair or insect touches her. “Your dad and me have a church supper tonight.”

  “I don’t need to go this time, do I?”

  She reflects. Glare on the glasses, momentary blindness. “I guess you don’t. Him and me in church is plenty for one night.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You make sure you behave like you ought to. Your daddy is real nervous lately. You know how he is. I can’t get him to lay down, he don’t rest at night. He don’t need any trouble from you.”

  This is her way of talking, as if Dad were a being of delicate sensibility, to be treasured and protected. But something else in her tone, some edge, awakens memory in Nathan. It is as if she is issuing a warning. But he tries to refuse the fear, he clings to his happiness, stubbornly, because he will spend the Friday night with Roy, the hours entirely their own. Mom looks at Nathan with the air of blindness returning. Roy stuffs his hands in his pockets as if suddenly shy. “Thanks, ma’am. We won’t be out too late. I’ll bring him back by eleven o’clock.” Giving Nathan a secret within the look they traded. “Get ready and let’s go. All right?”

  “Yeah.”

  The screen door opens and wind rushes out. Suddenly Roy has vanished and Nathan waits to catch his breath in the kitchen.

  “He sure seems like a nice boy.” Mom adjusts her glasses and opens her book. “He’s got a good way of acting. Don’t you think so?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You need any money?”

  “I got five dollars.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She is white-eyed again, facing the window. “I like this house. I hope we don’t have to move.”

  “Me too.” Feeling suddenly fearful. “Are we?”

  “Oh no. Oh no. We ought to be able to live here a long time. Your daddy likes his job. He likes Allis Chalmers, you know he always talked about working for them. I don’t think he liked John Deere as much.” She presses a curved fingernail into the jacket of the Emily Loring volume. “But he goes through cycles. You know. And he’s real nervous, like, lately. You know. Because he’s not making the sales.”

  Nathan knows. He is suddenly afraid. “He’s not going to bother me, is he?”

  But she is away. She is wherever she goes. “He’s just got some problems on his mind. Don’t worry.”

  He finds himself watching the loosening flesh at her throat, the place where the tendons stand out. A vein beats against the skin. She smiles without any comprehension. That is all. The sense of warning has almost vanished. Except, before she submerges into the yellowed pages, she murmurs, “Stay out of his way tonight.” A chill touches Nathan along the spine. He watches his mother and her lost, empty face. He goes upstairs. She hardly notices he has gone.

  He stands at the window until he sees Roy’s shadow. Then a little calm nests in his stomach, and he can move.

  Downstairs he says good-bye in a whirl of air and runs through the grass to the car, where Roy already waits.

  But he is still strangled by the last moments with his mother, and he cannot explain to Roy why, for the first few moments, he has no voice at all. The car whips a train of dust along the drive, Roy steering with his arm propped in the open doorway. He glances at Nathan, who remains frozen in the sound of his mother’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

  Nathan shakes his head.

  “Tell me.” The voice more emphatic, the arm no longer relaxed in the open frame.

  Small-voiced. “I’m okay.”

  “You glad we’re going out, aren’t you?”

  Nathan laughs, brushes the back of his hand against his eyes. He laughs again, watching Roy. Who shoves him roughly away, a gesture of play. “You’re crazy,” Roy says, and drives.

  At the end of the dirt road, Roy turns in the unaccustomed direction, the highway toward Somersville.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To meet Burke and Randy at the railroad trestle.” He relaxes against the open car window, driving one handed.

  Nathan faces him in the seat. Delight fills him, leaving no room for any other feeling. Here is Roy, they are together in a car, it is a Friday night. This is like people do.

  No mention of her, the unseen. No mention of where she is tonight.

  The drive lengthens and they talk, as freshly as if for the first time, more animated than ever. The confinement of the car encourages them in freedom with one another; and at the same time the privacy shelters them as neither forest nor graveya
rd ever has. They are alone in a protected place.

  Roy talks about his father, about the farm, about his mom and her sicknesses, her problems with her heart, her sugar, the circulation in her feet. He describes his father’s worry about her, and his worry about money to run the farm, and his silence about everything. He describes a life of cleanness, a father who wanted more sons, a mother who could bear only the one. He has aunts and uncles spread over the whole county and beyond, he has more cousins than he can name. He has lived on the farm all his life, and he thinks he could live there forever. He could be a farmer, he could drive the tractor and plow the fields till he’s old and gray. Except he’s pretty good at baseball and he might want to do that instead, play baseball in the minor leagues. He has no illusions about the major leagues, but the minors would be okay. When he talks about those things his voice rings pure as a bell, his eyes shining. He has a future, he can see it.

  Nathan talks about the books he reads, about wanting a telescope, about the stars and planets of his imaginings. He talks about going to college if he can get a scholarship. Someday he would like to be a chemist. Or maybe an astronomer with his own telescope in an observatory up in the mountains, away from everybody, where the air is clear.

  “You can’t be away from everybody.” Roy seems briefly troubled by the idea.

  “Everybody but you,” Nathan amends.

  A shadow grows and fades across Roy’s face. He wishes he did not wish. “That’s good.” Finally, though with a tautness to his voice. “You and me will be buddies even when we’re real old. Don’t you think so?”

  “I hope so.” Hoarse. Aware of the need to say only just enough.

  They drive in momentary silence, afternoon sun fading beyond the car windows. One turn, then another, leads them further from home.

  From behind the seat, sweating in a bag, Roy produces something startling, a cold poptop can. Roy opens the beer and Nathan watches guardedly. Roy tilts it to his mouth.

  “You drink beer?”

  “Yes.” Roy eyes the road quietly, the noisy car slicing through the velvet cascade of forest. “You reckon you can keep quiet about it?”

  Nathan flushed. “I don’t care if you drink it. It’s all right.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “Yes, I can keep quiet about it. I can keep quiet about anything.”

  Roy slows for another turn, jaw clenched. At the intersection of dirt road and asphalt, he studies, for a long moment, Nathan’s face. “That’s prob’ly a good thing.” Setting the beer between his thighs, he lays his hand tenderly on Nathan’s. The moment of touch passes quickly, but the aftermath blasts at Nathan like torches. Roy says, “We’re going swimming. That’s where we’re going.”

  “But I can’t swim.”

  “Then you can watch me.”

  The new road is mostly gravel. The sky darkens toward sunset, the heavy end of day settling over forest, automobile, and sky. Near a path where a car and truck are parked, Roy steers the car onto the soft shoulder.

  They park beside the truck, bright blue, and walk down a road into the forest, nearly dusk. Mud ruts are dried and hard, and the road is almost overgrown, strewn with large branches tumbled from a summer of thunder-storms. Nathan keeps close to Roy’s shadowed side. Roy says, “I tried to drive down here one time. Got stuck. Dad ’bout like to had a fit.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Near the river. About halfway to Somersville. You can hear the water if you listen good and the crickets ain’t singing too loud.” He has brought the beer cradled in the bag in his arm, and swallows from the open can. “We go swimming at the railroad trestle down here. It’s way high up off the water. That’s where I’m taking you. We need to hurry before it gets too dark to swim.”

  They follow the almost-road to the railroad tracks, and then pick their way along the railroad ties. Late sunlight slants through thin pine trunks, spreading golden fire over the river. Nathan listens for any sign of the train, and Roy laughs at his expression. “It comes early in the morning and late at night. You can hear it a long way off. Don’t worry. I won’t let you get run over.”

  Ahead the trees divide and a spectral bridge rises between the banks, a stark metal framework carrying the train tracks across the Eleanor River. Distant laughter springs from the span, from the voices of unseen boys. Nathan recognizes them from the smoking patio at school, Burke and Randy, and something about the knowledge complicates the evening. Roy throws his arm over Nathan’s shoulder with easy confidence, but removes it when the figures on the railroad trestle become more distinct.

  Burke has begun to climb a metal ladder to the top of the trestle, a long way above the water. Roy scowls as Burke climbs, jaw muscles working. There is rivalry between Roy and Burke, Nathan realizes, slightly surprised. Burke reaches the top rung of ladder and swings over the rail, standing only a moment on the narrow steel ledge. Plunging forward, legs kicking, but silent. He hits the water with a dark splash.

  “A boy drowned here last summer. Dived right into the river and never come up. They had to call in all these scuba divers to find him.” Dead, tangled in some kind of weed growing from the river bottom, said Roy. While Burke, clearly visible, climbs from the riverbank in his dripping drawers.

  Something about Burke’s body makes Nathan embarrassed, almost ashamed. He finds himself watching Burke, who is rumored to be the strongest white boy in high school. His hard edges and crude thickness fascinate. While at the same time Roy begins to undress, and Nathan watches him too. It is as if the fact that he knows he must conceal his interest in their bodies makes that interest all the greater, all the harder to hide.

  Randy hoots at Roy. “Did you see that dive?” Indicating the laudable Burke, still getting his breath.

  “Sure did.” Roy swings over to the ladder and begins to climb to the top of the trestle. He has laid his shirt and jeans on the tracks. Hips sway from side to side as he climbs. Pale undershorts shine.

  “What did you think about that?” Burke asked, water beaded on his shoulders.

  He expects Nathan to answer. Nathan swallows. “It’s pretty high.”

  Burke snorts. “It’s high all right. I bet you won’t do it.”

  “I bet I won’t either.”

  For a portion of the trestle’s passage over the river, the rails and ties run on a gravel embankment and gray gravel fills the spaces between the ties. Over the center of the span, however, the rail is supported on beams of steel, and between the cross ties is air. Nathan steps onto these cross ties, where Burke and Randy wait. The feeling of falling is already in Nathan’s gut, as if he were plunging toward the river. He can see the dark river surface far below the ties. Trying to show as little of his fear as possible, he steps bravely, glancing down only at moments when he cannot control his panic.

  “I’m with you, Nathan, I ain’ jumping off the top part either,” Randy says. His skin is colored like sand and freckles trace the curves of his nose and strong cheeks. Randy is plump, with a roll of white fat at his midsection. He towels Burke’s back dry. “I got no need to break my neck.”

  “Well, I do,” calls Roy from above, and Nathan stares upward dizzily, wishing for something to hold.

  Roy steps forward into space, kicking his legs as if to keep his upright stance through the air; he falls into the river, fast as that. Surfacing, he flings water from his hair and laughs, looking up at Nathan.

  At the same moment Burke steps toward Nathan and grips Nathan’s shoulders in his hands. On Burke’s face is a wicked grin, and at the center of his eyes is a blade of ice that frightens Nathan, even the first time he sees it. He grips Nathan’s shoulders so tight they hurt. “Hey Nathan, we’re glad you came out here to the river.”

  “Let him alone, Burke,” Roy calls from the river. He has begun a slow swim to shore. “He can’t swim.”

  “Well maybe he’ll learn if I throw him in right now.”

  “Don’t bother him, Burke. I mean it.”

  �
��I ain’t bothering him. Am I, Nathan? Huh? Say something.”

  He shakes Nathan violently. The hands on Nathan’s shoulders burn as Burke lifts Nathan from the trestle and suspends him over the water. Nathan fights panic, holds perfectly still in Burke’s grip. Strong fingers gouge his arms. From the center of the trestle Randy stops moving and watches. Burke grins and shakes Nathan again, more gently. “Are you man enough to jump from here? Or do you want me to throw you?”

  “I don’t want you to throw me.”

  “Then you going to jump?”

  Nathan holds perfectly still and looks Burke directly in the eye. The act of assertion calms him. He is strangely peaceful and feels no fear, even at the prospect of the fall. Something meets between them. He focuses on Burke’s arms and shivering chest. Burke is big for his age, and his stomach is ridged and hairy. A feeling of harsh strength pours out of him, different from Roy. Nathan looks into this, into Burke’s face, and says, “I want you to put me down.”

  Burke laughs and seems perplexed. Roy stands on the riverbank, watching. Burke releases Nathan. He backs away, leaving Nathan at the edge of the trestle. Nathan hovers unsteadily, glimpsing, below, his own face slipping beneath the dark water. As if the moment has divided, as if he has both fallen and not fallen. Shivering, he steps back to the center of the trestle.

  Far toward the trees in the darkness Roy climbs up the riverbank to the neat line of cross ties. Everything dissolves into nightfall. Starlings are singing, and frogs on trees are smelling the dusk and croaking in choirs. Roy trots down the railroad track, stepping from tie to tie.

  Burke meets him face to face. “I didn’t throw him in the river. I should have.”

  “You better be glad you didn’t.”

  “Oh hell, I’d have gone down and got him before he drownded.”

  Roy studies Nathan over Burke’s shoulder. Nathan shakes his head emphatically.

  Burke says, “That was a pretty nice dive, buddy.” “Yes, it was,” Randy agrees. “You was pumping them legs.”