The Lights in Room 42

[ChrisGibson]

Father Abbot Eutropius Prynne was, of course, not indifferent to religion, but he was indifferent to religious symbolism and the ins and outs of running a school that fit boys for a society he didn’t much care for, a society that he had faired well enough in but never loved. As they launched into the Gloria, Prynne caught the eyes of Brother Herulian, his oldest friend, who remembered when they had been that age, boys in those very pews.

At that time Father Abbot Eutropius had been Tommy Prynne and Brother Herulian was Ben Skibinski. Neither one of them seemed much headed for holy orders. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Ben hadn’t been much headed for holy orders. Later, at their class reunions, everyone would say they were never surprised to see Tommy Prynne in a habit, and when Tommy had finally become a postulant near the age of twenty seven, despite all of his smoking, drinking and swearing, he had arrived with his virginity in tact and a worn out prayer book. Old Abbot Merill had smiled at him gently, and a little sarcastically and said, “So, you’ve finally come home.”

Prynne had been out of irony by then, and looking about the foyer of the convent house he had said, “Well, yes. I suppose I have.”

Father Reed was preaching a sermon which, Prynne suspected, had very little to do with the actual readings. Father Benedict Reed, who had once just been the unfunny overly serious and too thin Andy Reed of Saint Francis School stood at the pulpit, still so thin, just like when they were teenagers, that it seemed to Prynne the vestments would fall from him.

“…To live another year in the service of each other, of this country and of God. This year we are going to show the world and each other, just what a Franny can do, and just what it means to be a Knight today, tomorrow and forever. You all, every one of you in these pews, is tremendously privileged to be here, gifted and on your way to share your privilege with the world…”

Prynne saw Swann Portis sitting in a side pew, get up and lead his cousin out. They demurely slipped through the side chapel doors and went off to do… something better.

Prynne was a junior before he realized he could skip out on school masses. He didn’t care for them now and had cared for them less as a boy. Once they were juniors taking classes with mixed grades, it was not only possible but sensible to beg out of a class saying you had to go to mass, beg out of mass saying you had to go to class, and then skip school altogether. Surely boys still did that.





Beside his cousin Harry, Peter Agalathagos saw Swann get up with who must have been his cousin. Pete pushed his glasses up. It was hot. He was sweaty and reminded of someone once saying Greeks were sweaty and greasy, he was a little embarrassed. In a pale beige blazer in a baby blue pinstriped shirt, Pete Agalathagos always tried to be a man of style, and sometimes this insulated him from insults. He was one of the few Greek kids here at Saint Francis. They were tight, aware of not quite fitting in. They were not quite Italians. They weren’t Catholics, but their religion was just as old. It wasn’t enough of them to be like the Black kids and being Greek just wasn’t as cool. He felt a little bit like the two or three kids Jewish kids only they mostly slipped under the rader.

But these concerns slipped away as he kept looking for Swann, wondering about his friend and roommate. When he had heard about his dad, Pete wasn’t sure what to do. Brad Tressler had said, “Maybe you should send a card.” But Pete’s mother said, “They’re Black. They’re like us. You don’t send cards. You call. You be human.”

Pete’s mother would never have said, “You be a human.” She would say, “You be human”, leave out articles. She had spent all her life in the Near West Side of Chicago. It was her parents who had come from Chios, but she still spoke without articles in convoluted patterns.

No, they weren’t really like other white people, Pete decided. He wasn’t entirely sure if he thought of himself as white. Those were Anglos. They were Protestants, or even Catholics. Swann, sad as he was, and not pretending not to be, kept him on the phone for two hours, and Pete was glad to be on the phone, but they hadn’t talked since and Pete was worried about his friend.

Harry was looking at him now and Pete was reflecting that at this moment he was in the middle of the church and Father Reed was still preaching.



“Moving forward with faith and trust and the memory of our excellent gifts, as a community, Saint Francis will succeed in everything it puts its hands to. After all that is the motto of our school. Suaviter at fortiter. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,”

As everyone or most everyone crossed themselves in what Peter could not help but think of as the wrong way, he looked around and he saw Father Reed stepping down from the pulpit and then blinked as his eyes were caught by Abbot Prynne. Prynne always looked like a Cheshire Cat, and he gave a small smile, nodded at Peter and then ducked his head to the door where Swann had gone.

As Father Reed said, “Let us now rise for our profession of faith…” Pete began to move through the boys and out into the side aisle.

“Where are you going?” Harry said.

“We don’t even use this creed,” Peter whispered. “Don’t you remember? We had schism and lost Constantinople over it.”

And then he slipped out and rounded the back of the church to head to the side door through which Swann had disappeared.



Peter had heard enough about the history of the priory of Saint Francis to know that originally it had been the church connected to the large, castle like monastery. He’d seen the pictures of what it had once looked like, a litte Gothic, kind of the place a mad wife would be hidden or a wolf man might chase you. Apparently there had been far more monks back then. They had built the school to support them. He’d seen the old school. It was smaller than the monastery, brick with its own courtyard, and on the other side of the monastery from the church. As the school had gotten bigger and the number of monks smaller, the two buildings became one, the school now facing the highway and rising on either side of the Chapel of the Holy Angels and making a U that joined arms with the hidden U of the monastery. Much of the grim nature of the old façade had been taken care of by modern upkeep, and aside from the boys and the brothers were the Sisters of Saint Anne who a stone’s throw north and governed the girl’s school. Between and behind the convent and monastery were the houses of Butterfields, Crabtrees and Willises, all who taught at the two schools where they had sent their children.

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an interesting and different portion. How religion figures into the story is fascinating to me. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

That was an interesting and different portion. How religion figures into the story is fascinating to me. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

Sleep has been figuring into my story! OI just got up. I'm glad you're finding joy in this. Now I will post the weekend portion.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Seventh graders—of whom there were very few—and Freshmen stayed on one long floor that was part of the school building, reached by turning left in the vestibule of Holy Angels. Sophomores, juniors and seniors stayed in large old dormitory reached by door opposite of the Freshmen door and it was through this door and down the hall and up the stairs that Peter Agalathagos was now traveling. Down the flagstoned hall and up the red carpeted steps to the second and then the third floor and down the hall with its heavy old doors and their transoms to the suite of rooms with their turret where he could smell the definite scent of the beginnings of gumbo, and when he entered, Duck or Doug was stirring a pot while he was directed by Swann to “Keep on turning it. There you go.

“Pete!” Swann said, seeing him and nudging Duck on the shoulder. “Don’t stop stirring the roux till its light brown.

He embraced Peter and said, “You know this won’t be ready for a while.”

“Man, you know that’s not why I came.”

“Did you think I’d run off from Mass to jump in the river?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Peter said, pulling off his blazer, and going toward the closet to hang it.

Duck noticed the roux was ready and began to carefully stir in the celery followed by the peppers and onions. And then he noticed that Pete was just right, just who you wanted to look like. Not too tall, not to short, olive skinned, handsome, but kind looking, smiling from the side of his mouth, his blue eyes winking through glasses. He had honey colored hair and pressed trousers and in his pressed shirt and tie, like a sixteen year old executive, he wrapped an arm around Swann’s waist companionably and asked, “What should I do?”

“Right now just go to the fridge and get a juice box—by which I mean a beer.”

Pete’s hands flew up when his eyes flew open.

“Are you serious?”

“No one checks our fridges,” Swann said, and then he moved to the cook pot and took the spoon from Duck.

“Good job, Cousin.”



Douglass Perrin had hate this place the moment he’d clapped eyes on it when he’d come. with his cousin, his uncle, his mother and his father early that morning. St. Francis was on a large plot of land that took up a great street block, or more something the size of a few street blocks on the northern end of Calverton where the city ran out and was turning to country, where the Calverton Road became the state road. On the other side of the great trees that lined the road was Ottawa Park so nothing of the city could be seen there, and all around the old school and abbey were planted thick green trees so that one could be forgiven for believing this was the end of civilization.

Doug thought this whole place looked like a vampire’s castle.

“You are going to love this,” Doug’s mother said, and he wondered how Deborah Merrin could open her mouth to tell such a lie.

Doug knew how to be courteous, and as he and his family and Swann went up and down the halls greeting everyone who was glad to see Swann return and Swann introduced them all to his cousin, Doug was sure to wave back, nod hello and then promptly forget that name of everyone he talked to. It wasn’t until he was in the large suite where Swann stayed, helping him peel shrimp, that he felt a little at ease, and it wasn’t until Chris Navarro swung his head around that Duck was happy to see… well, all the faces had been friendly, but a face he knew.

Doug was only mildly surprised by the smell of a burning cigarette as his cousin, in shorts, but still wearing his dress shirt, tie hanging like a loose noose, sat in the windowsill, legs swinging and smoked, handing his pack to Pete.

“Are you staying with us?” Pete asked Doug. He was friendly and spoke quickly, and Doug said, “No. I’m on the other side with the Freshmen.”

“Of course,” Pete said. “That’s too bad. The more the merrier.”

“Is Vince here yet?” Swann asked.

“I saw him at Mass.”

“I didn’t really see anyone.” Swann said. “I was concentrating on making an appearance and then leaving.”

“Prynne saw you leave.”

“Prynne sees everything,” Swann shrugged.

“He told me to go after you.”

“He told you—“

“His eyes. He gestured for me to go after you.”

“Um,” Swann reflected.

Peter Agalathagos said, “You know, I think I would like to be just like Prynne when I grow up. Except Greek. And not a priest.”

“You could be a priest,” Doug said. “Don’t Greek priests get married?”

“You’re a smart kid.”

“I’m fourteen. I’m like two years younger than you.”

“You’re still a smart kid, and I would be a terrible priest marriage or not.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Swann cried, as Duck went to the cooker and turned it down, “does anyone finish Mass.”

“I went my parents earlier.” Chris said. “It’s the same mass all Sunday. All over the world.”

Chris shrugged, coming back in and palming Doug’s head.

He was accompanied by James Lung, Harry Proestes and the very Vincent Joyner they had been asked about just moments before.

“Thank God, another Black person,” Doug exclaimed at the sight of Vinny.

“My cousin, Doug,” Swann introduced him, “who is not easily impressed and speaks directly to everyone.”

“You’re here now? Vince said.

Vince was a runner, elegant, short haired, bespectacled, chocolate brown and, Swann though, a better looking version of himself.

“Down in 112.”

“Welcome. Don’t be a stranger around here.”

“You live here.”

“I’m a day student,” Vinny said. “You couldn’t pay me to live here.”

Chris shrugged. “I think it’s pretty great.”

“No privacy.”

“We put up a divider.”

“Dividers,” Pete remembered.

“And we got the main room and the sitting area and then we got the dividers to the beds, and Swann keeps the turret.”

“I heard our old suite ended up being empty,” Swann said, stooping to take a sip of the boiling gumbo and sprinkling file powder into it.

“Why is it empty?”

Swann looked at Chris like he was stupid.

“Because no one took it.”

“Doug!” Chris said. “Too bad you’re Freshmen, or you could ask for and be near us.”

“Or,” Vince said, “you could just move in and not say a thing,” Swann finished.

“Without permission?” Chris almost exclaimed.

“Did you see his face?” Vince said to Swann.

“I saw it,” Swann said, gently nodding.

“It’s just that it’s best to ask,” Chris started.

“Look,” Vince interrupted, “if you don’t ask they can’t say no.”

“We annexed 305 last year,” Pete said.

“What?” Doug began.

“It has a door that leads to our rooms, so we just got the key and took it over.”

“Right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing around here,” Vince declared.

“Duck, bring those shrimp,” Swann said. “Soon it’ll be time to eat.”

“Did you get your schedule yet?” Chris asked.

“Yeah,” Doug said. “Latin first period—”

“Score. I’m in your Latin class. Doc Russo. You can stop taking languages after two years or switch to a new one. I thought I’d try Latin out. I hope it doesn’t suck.”

“I hope none of it sucks,” Doug said. “This is so different. I’ve never been to a boarding school. It’s like something from an British novel.”

“Doug,” Peter Agalathagos said.

“Yes?”

“This place is nothing like an English novel.”

“Doug, are you doing summer camp next year?”

“I didn’t want to do it this year.” He told Chris.

He said, “I feel like I’m doing a bunch of things I don’t want to do.”

“But, Doug… we did end up having fun.”

“That’s true,” Doug admitted, “but still, I would like to choose something for myself. For once.”

“Well, I was just going to say don’t choose summer camp cause I’m not going. Not to that one.”

Doug Perrin had already seasoned the shrimp in Old Bay and was turning them into the boiling vegetables and sauce. Already he was thinking of going down the hall and finding himself a new room. It seemed so crazy, to move in with the juniors and thumb up what had been handed to him, but as he added the last of the shrimp and smelled the cigarettes and Chris said, “Duck, now that you’re here, we’re gonna have so much fun,” he knew he was going to do it.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Doug Merrin was surprised when, as soon as everyone had finished a bowl from the immense pot of gumbo, they promptly headed downstairs for dinner.

“It only makes sense,” Swann, who had moved the rest of the gumbo to the squat refrigerator in the common room told him, pulling off shorts and pulling on trousers but not bothering to dress up.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to all my friends,” Chris pulled Doug away.

Doug looked mildly panicked, but Swann said, “We’re in the same circle. You’re not going to be far from me, Duckling.”

For the most part, Chris knew who Swann knew. The whole time Chris has been his camp counselor, Doug had never known he was also becoming his cousin’s best friend. But Chris was athlete and he introduced him to the boys he played soccer and track with. One of them was Salvador Goode. Another was Joe Stanley.

Everyone seemed nice enough, but there were some who weren’t, including a Freshmen who shoved him and said, “Watch where you’re going, Duck, or whoever you are.”

Doug was never afraid and lunged at him, but Joe politely pulled him back and said, to the other Freshmen,“Why don’t you pick on someone you can actually beat up.”

“If you’re like that, no one’s going to call you Duck,” Chris said. “You’re gonna have to be Hawk.”

The cafeteria was larger than the church that could rarely fit a whole school in it, and the rowdiness died down when Abbot Prynne rang the bell.

“Welcome back, all,” he said, “And Father Reed will lead us in grace, and then we will all settle down to the meal that was so,” he raised his voice toward the kitchen, “beautifully prepared for us.”

“One of the kitchen doors swung open and a chef crossed his arms over his chest and said, “We still want our overtime.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an excellent portion! It’s good to get to know more characters in this story. I am enjoying this story a lot and look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Chapter Four






Swann was surprised to wake up in a bright mood the next morning, glad at the sun shining through his window. He tried to remember everything he’d learned last night, the death of Garrett, the heavy drama of Joe and Sal next door, and it didn’t matter. He felt so light and happy that when he looked at the clock and remembered he had a nine o’ clock, he wasn’t even bothered.

There was a rap on his door, and he thought how unlike Katey that was, and then he groaned, rolled out naked, put on his large old housecoat and answered the door, shocked and even a little dismayed at the riotous happiness of Sal and Joe, who tumbled into the room Joe in shorts and sweatshirts , Sal in jeans and tee shirt.

“You wanna get breakfast?”

“No!,” Swann said in disgust.

“It’s French toast day”

“I didn’t even know people went to breakfast.”

“Oh, come on!” Joe said “You mean to tell me you’ve never been to breakfast?”

“That is exactly what I mean to tell you. And–” Swann continued when Sal opened his mouth. “I’m not going to start today.”

“You’re no fun,” Sal said.

“That may be the case,” Swann agreed.

“Well, fine, you lay here in bed like an old man,” Joe said, getting up and screwing his ballcap around, lid to the back.

“I will,” Swann nodded.

“We’re leaving,” Joe said.

“You haven’t.”

“He’s very cruel,” Joe said to Sal, “isn’t he?”

Sal nodded with mock sobriety, and the two of them backed out of the room before Sal came in quickly, swooped down and hugged Swann.

“What the–?”

“We didn’t talk to you in school because we thought you were mean and didn’t like anyone. That’s all. Joe told me you were watching out for me and talked to him and… thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Swann said. “Now, go away.”

When the door was closed, Swann kept some of his artificial bad mood a little bit longer. How could they be so fucking chipper? It was barely eight, and they had all been up at three. Exhausted, sticky, covered in the drama, and sorrow of the day before, Swann had gotten up to shower. When he’d come into the shower room, it didn’t take a lot of imagination to understand that the shower stall occupied by two people, with two sets of shower shoes, two towels and murmuring male voices was Joe and Sal. He thought about leaving, but they had inconvenienced his night enough so he took the shower stall two doors down. They never had to meet. If they got out, he would stay in the shower until they were gone. If he was done before they were, then he would skip out quickly.

By the time Swann was done, it was clear that they were having sex in the shower. Swann was caught between rushing away with a virginity he hadn’st possessed in some time, and something that wasn’t quite lust. He shouldn’t have been listening he told himself. He wondered if they were nuts. Didn’t they think someone else might come in or hear them? Or did they care? No, it could have been anyone, if no one else knew about them. Their little cries and moans under the beat of the water were vulnerable, sweet, Swann wanted to protect them. That was foolish. He was being foolish. He thought it was Joe that he heard cry out. He could almost see someone’s hands over someone’s hands, someone’s mouth pressed against someone’s throat. Face hot, Swann turned around, opened the door and left, returning to his room and crawling into the coolness of his bed sheets.

Ten minutes after Sal and Joe left, smelling like fabric softener and aftershave, Swann rolled out of bed, pushed open his closet and hit the button on the coffee pot he kept in there. Ten minutes later, naked, he crawled out of bed, made sure his door was locked, and prepared a mug of coffee. Crawling into the recliner he and Jill had brought into this room, he lit his first cigarette. In his last haul from home he’d brought a mini fridge and toaster, and it wasn’t that Swann didn’t believe in breakfast, but he didn’t believe in it happening with other people. He made the toaster pastries and drank some orange juice and slowly made his way to the bathroom and around this time the phone rang and he said:

“Hello.”

“Should we dress like we care today or not?”

“Let’s dress like we give a shit,” he told Jill. “No need to look terrible today.”

“Lunch at 11:45?”

“Yes.”

“I slept so good,” Jill said.

“I didn’t.”

“Really?”

“I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.”

He wasn’t sure how much he could tell Jill. Again he felt like telling her about Sal and Joe was gossip. And it seemed like they were his friends now, these boys who smelled like spearmint, baby’s breath and testosterone and carried a heavy secret life between them.

She doesn’t know Garrett died, Swann reminded himself. It wouldn’t matter to their other friends, but Jill had gone to Saint Anne’s right next door. He rarely thought of Saint Francis, but suddenly he felt very connected to it. As he looked out of his window down on the walkway with the campus radio station and science lab across from it, Swann exhaled cigarette smoke.

“Pete,” he said.

It was time to see Pete.



“Did you see his face?” Sal laughed.

Joe grinned at him while he was swallowing his food.

“We should probably not do that again.”

“Well….. We’ll take him to lunch or something.”

“Actually,” Joe said sticking his fork in the eggs, “we’ll probably take him to the funeral.”

“You think he’ll go?”

“Sure.”

“I wasn’t sure if we would go,” Sal said.

“We have to,” Joe said. “He was one of us us. Pumas come together. You know how it is.”

“I just talked to Swann for the first time in six years,” Sal said. “So how much do Pumas really come together?”

“Pumas come together for funerals,” Joe said.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny. And it’s true.”

“Fuck,” Sal said, “maybe we could start a new tradition and be there for each other while we’re still alive.”

“Yeah,...”

“What are you grinning for?”

“I dunno,” Joe shook his head. “It’s all sad. It’s really sad, but on a day like today all I can do is feel good.”

Sal stopped eating and put his chin on his hand.

“I wanna kiss you right now,” he whispered.

“That would probably be a mistake,” Joe said sensibly. “A lot of people wouldn’t like it, starting with your girlfriend.”

“You know Swann’s the only gay guy I’ve ever talked to?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re a little gay.”

“I dunno what we are. We’re… We never had anyone to talk about it with before. But Swann had a boyfriend last year. I saw him. I saw him kiss in front of people.And that was brave as shit because… the world is the way it is.”

“Is that why you always had a girl and I always had a girl?” Joe asked.

“Huh?”

“I’m not judging it, but is that why? Cause we were too afraid? Because we don’t like the word gay? Cause I don’t like it. I don;t like what people mean when they say it. They say it behind our backs all the times. Sometimes I just wanna be like, yeah, stuff happens with us. All the stuff you whisper about happens with us.”

“I need to break up with Courtney,” Sal said suddenly. “I feel dirty every time I’m with her. I feel like a terrible person.”

“But you’re not a terrible person.”

“I kind of am, Joseph. The difference between being with her and….” Sal stopped.

He leaned in and whispered as Mike Nichols came into the cafeteria with his girlfriend, Janette.

` “This morning, when I came home, when we were holding each other. When we were in the shower Later, in bed…. The way I feel when it’s us.”

Joe turned red and turned his head.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t handle it,” Joe’s face was still red.

“You don’t feel the same?”

“Of course I feel the same. Of course. You know I do, Sal. I’m just… It’s hard to talk about, hard to hear about.”

“I almost don’t want to go to class. We should just go back and spend the morning together,” Sal was openly reaching across the table running his hand over Joe’s.

“Sal, you think you don’t care that people can see us, but I bet you do. You will.”

“You know Swann knows.”

“Of course he knows.”

“No, like he really, really knows. Like, I think he heard us in the shower last night.”

“I don’t care,” Joe said. “I really don’t.

“And let me explain, I don’t mean it in a defensive way. I’m just…. “

Joe had gone quiet. He looked sad for a moment and then he said, “Since we were twelve years old people whispered about us, joked about us, and just for someone to really see us, to really know, it’s a relief. I know he knows. He was really good about it, really... classy. And if he was the one that came in the shower room, then he heard us and I’m glad. I’m tired of no one knowing. I’ve wanted to let other people know for years.”

“He’s safe, isn’t he?”

“You know he is.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

An excellent start to this new chapter! I really liked having a portion of just mainly Swann, Joe and Sal. Joe and Sal we risking a bit having sex in such a public place. It’s good only Swann heard them. Great writing and I look forward to more!

 

[ChrisGibson]

An excellent start to this new chapter! I really liked having a portion of just mainly Swann, Joe and Sal. Joe and Sal we risking a bit having sex in such a public place. It’s good only Swann heard them. Great writing and I look forward to more!

Oh, I'm glad you're enjoying it and yes I loved Swann and the two of them just getting to talk to each other. I think that that Sal and Joe were jsut safe having sex in the senior dorm at three in the morning. I',m sure they had nothing to fear, though I may have to do a better job of explaining ust how small the college is, just how much smaller their dorm is and also how out of the way it is

 

[ChrisGibson]

Sal lived on Pemberton and Joe lived on Foster. Their backyards were caticornered and when Joe flashed his lights from his bathroom window, Sal could flash his from his bedroom. Next door to Joe were the Alexanders who lived in a large brick house, and had a driveway that ended in a little carriage house and then there was a strip of alley and across that alley was where the Goodes lived.
Sal was the best friend you could wish for. The boys just found each other when both of them had come, in sixth grade, to Saint Vincent’s school. Sal had come from out in Merrillville, and Joe’s family had moved from the villages by the river south of town. They just got each other. They just loved being together. They could talk about anything, even those things that boys weren’t supposed to care about. And Joe thought that Sal was amazing, so tall, so good at sports, good at everything. Funny. Everyone thought he was hilarious and Joe didn’t know back then that everyone thought the same about him.
Anyway, one day he looked out of his window to Sal’s house, but it was the middle of the day so no light flashing would have helped, and he looked down to the abandoned carriage house and there was Sal, his best friend, crying. It was terrible when guys cried. Mike Loeffler had burst into tears over something last week in school, and he was the biggest kid in school. Boys didn’t just cry over anything. This must have been serious, and Joe didn’t think to not go to his friend right away. Indeed, it seemed to take far too long to get his gym shoess on and get down the stairs, out of his house and down the alley.
Sal wasnt even embarrassed, which was a sign they were real friends and while he sat beside his friend, Sal said, “Mom and Dad are fighting again, and I think they’re getting a divorce. She said she wants a divorce and he said, he said, well then why don’t you get one, and it’s terrible.”
“I wish my folks would get a divorce,” Joe said.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. They’re always yelling and fighting. Dad’s always drinking. I fucking hate it.”
“You said fuck.” Sal looked delighted and surprised.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Joe said fiercely.
Sal looked at him and laughed.
“I’m scared, Joe.”
“I’m scared too,” Joe said. “I’m scared of everything. Why do grown ups have to be so…”
“Yeah.”
“You can stay with me tonight,” Joe said. “My folks are acting normal.”
“Great. I’ll go and get some clothes.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Joe knew that parents acted normal when their kids brought friends over. Joe remembered those times when his dad drank too much and then disappeared. He’d stay gone for days, and you didn’t know when he’d show back up or how he would show up. Joe loved him, but he was terrified of him. He was glad Sal was here. He couldn’t make things better for him, not really. He was just a kid, and he knew that Sal couldn’t change anything for him, but he felt safe with Sal, sitting on the floor under the couch. He felt protected by his tall goofy, perfect friend in the semi dark of the TV room, their knees pressed together. Sal threw his arm around him and he could feel the other boy’s heart pumping through his tee shirt, could hear him breathing. Joe wrapped his arm around Sal so he’d know that he would protect him as best he could, Like a little fire, the certainty that the two of them could do anything burned in him. This was what a best friend was, someone so close you were almost one person, the two of you against everything, and John Candy was doing something crazy in The Great Outdoors, and it was the summer of 1989 and the 90’s were coming soon and everything would be different and they laughed and looked at each other, and Joe wanted to say something that sounded goofy, not girly, no, but too grown up. He wanted to say something about the cleft in Sal’s chin and how hard it was to look away from his grey green eyes and how serious and beautiful he looked. Joe wanted to say it all and then Sal was kissing him, and Joe wasn’t even that surprised. He wasn’t angry. He was happy about it. It seemed totally right. While the rest of the movie went on, they made out their backs to the sofa and Joe thought about the times he’d kissed Eileen and how Sal had dated Sara, and he thought how very different this was. He remembered the door was locked, and he knew it needed to be. He also knew his parents were strangely incurious people.
They kept kissing as the credits rolled and almost as soon as HBO went to its commercial breaks, Sal made a noise, like stubbing his toe, sort of impatient, and then he lifted his tee shirt, and Joe understood. He didn’t want to be separate from Sal. He wanted to be as close to him as he could, and he had seen those movies, they came on late at nigh,t and he had seen those pictures in the magazines his dad hid. Those had men and women, and it was fun to look at them, and he had gotten excited thinking about them, but what he had never thought about, or never let himself think about, was happening here in the blue lit darkness, under the big comforter they had dragged out to guard against the air conditioning. Very businesslike, like those men in the movies, Sal was taking his clothes off and Joe did too. They didn’t really see each other that time. In the dark they felt each other, It was like the most intense hug, like they never wanted to let go, legs and arms around each other, kissing lips and eyes and ears and they just kept saying, “I love you,” and Joe hadn’t told that to very many people, and he’d always wanted to say it to Sal. He could barely say it enough for Sal’s tongue entering his mouth, and his tongue tasted like Kool-Aid and ice pops, and when they got tired they rested, hands in hair or hands on arms and legs, then started all over again, and when they were silent, one of them would start to speak and then get emotional and they would hold each other in the dark, their hot bodies pressed together.


Early next morning there was a knock at the door, and it was Joe’s mom. She sounded happy so Dad must be gone.
“I’m going to McDonalds. What does Sal want?”
Joe was in Sal’s arms. Sal didn’t feel twelve. He felt strong and powerful and Joe didn’t feel twelve. He leaned into Sal and it was like they were the same person. A double strong person, twice as powerful as they were apart when they were just two little boys.
“Uh…. Pancakes and sausage, Mrs. Stanley. Thank you,” Sal shouted through the door.
“Pancakes and sausage I can do,” Mrs. Stanley said. “And hash brown and orange juice too.”
“Awesome,” Sal said, though Joe said nothing.
“ Be up when I get back!”
“Alright mom!” Joe called.
“Thanks Mrs. S!” Sal called again.
“Love you, Mom,” Joe added.
She knew boys needed their privacy. It would never have occurred to her to try to come in.
They faced each other, hugging, playing footsie, wiggling their toes against each other. They began silly play, little punches, laughs, but in the end their bodies were srtetched out and heaving, and in the morning light, for the first first time they beheld each other, shocked as their very young bodies shuddered with orgasm and they suddenly spilled against each other, dizzy and exhausted.
By the time Joe’s mom had returned he and Sal were dressed in tee shirt and joggers, hair mussed, pelting each other with paper wads, but under the table their feet touched and Sal looked at him with a gaze that was so adult it almost disarmed Joe. When Sal was going home that afternoon, something in Joe that had been asleep twenty four hours earlier yearned for him, and one thought so simple but so ancient kept insisting itself.
I belong to him.

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to read about some of Sal and Joe’s past. Thanks for explaining about the dorms, it being small and out of the way helps me understand why they wouldn’t get caught having sex. Sounds like Sal and Joe have had a rough time of it with their parents. Excellent writing and I look forward to more of it!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Great to read about some of Sal and Joe’s past. Thanks for explaining about the dorms, it being small and out of the way helps me understand why they wouldn’t get caught having sex. Sounds like Sal and Joe have had a rough time of it with their parents. Excellent writing and I look forward to more of it!

So, if you hadn't had the confusion abotu the droms, I wouldn't have known it wasn't explained, and that's mportant because often, as a writer, you think youve conveyed somethign you haven't.

 

[ChrisGibson]

“One day I wanna live like a grown up too,” Swann murmured, looking around the dimly lit apartment, the dark walls, red, and hung with admittedly imitation art, the champagne colored couch against the shades that overlooked the little balcony. He stretched out his hand and caressed the soft hair on the strong thigh draped over him, and Pete Sartes kissed the back of his neck and mumured, “I told you to go into the Army, Baby.”

Almost as soon as he said it, Pete laughed, and Swann, not turning around, said, “What?

Pete stretched out beside him.

“The thought of you in the Army!”

“You were in the damn Army. You are in the Army.”

“I learned to follow rules.”

“Well, I bet you weren’t so good at it when you got there. I could have learned.”

“When we were in school, I dished out rules. And then there was the time when no one listened to my rules.”

Pete lay on his back.

“For a time I was king of the boys, and then the boys hated that I was ever the king, and they resented me and I was the outcast of the boys, and then I made my peace with the boys, but I know how the boys work. There’s always a pecking order, and that’s the Army.”

“I feel,...” Swann began, as he turnd over and Peter turned over at the same time, “That this is leading to a point.”

“The point is you don’t take orders.”

“Because I’m not one of the boys.”

“Orvice versa. But basically the point is you did the exact right thing by going to college.”

Pete was blinking. His glasses were on the table, and Swann lay on his side and ran the back of his hand over Petes strong back, took in his arms, his proud, high ass, and the long thighs and calves, all covered in Greek down, brown as a rabbit’s fur. He kissed him all the way down and Pete shuddered, his toes curling. Gently, gently, he kissed Peter all up and down the cleft of his ass, took gentle nips of the roung muscle, rested his head on it like a pillow, amazed by the softness of its down.

“You keep it up,” Peter said, with a gentle laugh in in his voice, “And I’m going to turn around, fold you up like an accordion and fuck you again.”

“I can still feel the last two times,” Swann murmured, cheek on Pete’s ass, the back of his hand carressing this thighs, “but I don’t mind.”

Peter closed his eyes and gripped the pillow, pleasure shooting all through him, his penis swelling.

“You should never have left me.”

“I didn’t leave you,” Swann said. “You left me.”

“I joined the Army.”

“Considering I wasn’t in the Army, it feels a whole lot like leaving.”

Peter turned around and groaned.

“Are we arguing? Are we going to argue?”

Swann half sat up, Peter’s penis was half risen, half arced like a sausage.

“No,” Swann said, “we’re not.”

“With little effort and no conversation, Swann reached for the bottle of lube and while he did, Pete reached behind him for the little brown bottle, shook it, opened it, and took a great inhale to each nostril, and then, closing it and shaking it, handed to Swann. Swann swiftly swiped lube into his asshole, then polished Peter’s penis with it, the both of them taking pleasure at its hardening. Swann knelt over Peter and balanced his hard penis at the tip of his anus. Shaking the bottle, he unscrewed it, closed one nostril and inhaled deeply with the other as he sat down, the rich fumes expanding his head, melting his body as he lowered himself down on Peter and the two old lovers shuddered with the pleasure of reunion.



Were Sal and Joe like this? Did they have poppers and lube stashed away? Lube at least. Did they fuck or was it just rubbing up against each other? Or head. He remembered back in high school the first time he’d blown Peter and Peter had been nervous but ready because they’d circled each other a while. They were in Chicago, at Symphony Hall, and as the music had risen, Swann had reached for Pete in the dark. At last they’d made their way to a fancy bathroom, and then later to the quietness of the third floor of the family home in South Shore. What they both experienced that afternoon was something they could barely talk about. Was it Sal that did it to Joe or vice versa or both of them? Did they take their off their clothes slowly and lay their magnificent athletic bodies together like a sixty nine? Had it been like that afternoon on his knees when he couldn’t take Pete out of his mouth, when the thing he wanted more than anything was Pete, growing larger and harder in his mouth, and Peter had shuddered and made tiny noises like someone being priced, and then his hands had spasmed in Swann’s hair, and he let out a high pitched undignified cry as Swann’s mouth filled with something burning, musty, salty sweet, all on his tongue, in the back of his mouth, spurting still, until it was nearly bursting out of his mouth. He couldn’t swallow it. He got up to spit it out. Did Joe spit Sal out or was it the other way around? When it was done, Pete’s’fawn colored blazer was on the door knob, and his white and grey striped shirt handing over his legs. He was cupping himself. He looked vulnerable. Did Sal look like that for Joe? He could picture Sal looking like a boy more than a man. Sal seemed more fragile than Joe despire his height.

Still, that first time with Pete was an isolated moment. It was a time much later when they had finally come together again like a proper couple. It had been a full moon and Peter had looked at him with such love and taken him by the hand and led him back to their secret place. He lay under Peter all night. Did Sal do that to Joe? Had they ever done it by moonlight, or better yet, under the moonlight, in the grassy fields?

 

[CharmedFan28]

Well Swann certainly has a lot to contemplate between his relationship with Peter and his new friends Sal and Joe. I am very interested to see what he does next! Great writing and I look forward to more!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well Swann certainly has a lot to contemplate between his relationship with Peter and his new friends Sal and Joe. I am very interested to see what he does next! Great writing and I look forward to more!

Pete Agalathagos hadn’t changed that much, still the hot dork, the dark complexioned bronze haired Greek boy with the vaguely tinted glasses. He was sitting at the breakfast table drinking coffee and looking serious. He didn’t speak for a long time. Even when Swann came in the kitchen, he just reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, and Swann thought he could be happy with him, Swann thought, I can see us like this in thirty years. And it was a funny thought, because he’d only seen one male couple in his life.

“Mark,” Pete finally said when Swann was sitting across from him, and had just lit a cigarette, “And Joe Stanley?”

Swann nodded and blew a small gust of pale smoke from his nostrils.

“That isn’t an entire surprise,” Pete said.

“How long?”

“Since they were kids.”

“They’re kids now.”

“So are you.”

Peter had a tendency to play up the fact that he was a year older.

“You know what I mean.”

“I think since they were about twelve.”

Peter let out some exaggerated Greek phrase. He seemed so shockable some times, and then he said, “I didn’t really know Garrett.”

“Well, if you didn’t, I didn’t.”

“No,” Pete said. “It’s a shame. I mean, it’s a shame It wasn’t that many of us, and we got all in our littl groups, had our little hatreds and our friendships and all the time we hardly knw some of the msot important things about each other. And no one else but us will really understand what it was like to be at Saint Francis’s, to live that life. “

Sometimes Pete said everything that was on Swann’s mind, and so Swann didn’t say anything.

“Poor Garrett. He was just a kid. He was just one of us. And what a stupid way to go. I mean, surely that’s a stupid way to go. No one says it, but we know it.”

“How many of us are gone now?” Swann said.

“How many?” Peter echoed.

“Keith in the car crash right before senior year. Aaron got shot the day after graduation.”

“Right,” Pete nodded.

“Jay committed suicide his Freshmen year in college.”

“Are we cursed?” Pete wondered. “It’s not that many of us. Seriously, are we cursed?”

“I’m not cursed,” Swann said. “I refuse to be.”

Peter laughed, pushed his glasses up his nose and folded his paper

“Of course you do.”

“Are you going to the funeral?”

“I feel like we should, right?”

Swann shrugged, “I used to not believe in things like that… Obligations. I used to think they were hypocritical. I didn’t go to Keith’s and I kind of regret it So, yes, let’s go to this one. I don’t know when it is, but I’m sure Mark or Joe will let me know.”

“If you all are becoming friends, they’d probably drag you along.”

“Yes, they probably would, but they’re going to have ach other ,and all the people they were friends with, and I’m going to want you at my side.”

“Well, then I’ll be at your side.”

Pete asked, “Are you staying to the whole weekend?”

“Yes, and you’ll drop me off Sunday?”

Pete nodded.

“We’re so young, and so busy losing so many of us,” Swann observed, “I used to think we had all the time in the world. I think until about three days ago I was good at mapping thins out the long way, good at putting this off and that off into the future, sure there would be a future. And right now we just listed off four people who certainly had more of a future than I could have imagined myself having, and they’re gone, so, yes, let’s have this weekend together, lt’s have as much of each other as we can. Right now. Here. Tomorrow isn’t really promised, is it?



Pete had always been cool to him. Not whe nthey were lovers, you couldn’t really love someone you spent time thinking of a cool, at least not immediately. In a school where khaki’s and blazers would do, Pete had three piece suits, and handkerchief. Where most boys waiting till their junior year for a class ring, he came Freshmen year wearing a flashign sapphire. He was sixteen when they were Freshmen and took Swann riding on his Vespa, holding into his back as he rode through own on a Vespa, and by the time they were juniors, Pete had his first motorcycle.

But after someone was your lover, there came that day when you knew each other agan, almost for th first time, when you sat across from him and you realized, yes, this bastard really is a as cool as I remember him ,as funny, as mischievous, as sexy. And that weekend as they rode through Columbus on the back of his bike, and went to the lake and the river and the museums and the restaurants where Peter put a hand over his and told him not to even think about paying , he remembered again how cool Pete was, how amazing it was to be his friend, how much more amazing to be his boyfriend.

Back in school, back in their secret place, they’d lain together one morning and Swann was running his hand up and down Peter’s chest when Pete said, “Of course you can be my boyfriend. We’re Greeks. We invented that stuff.”

Swann laughed, imagining Peter presenting him to the Sartes clan, and Pete corrected, “Actually, Greeks invented evasion and intense male friendships that no one questions, but that’s almost as good.”

“I hear the Italians perfected it.”

“Italians,” Pete frowned with mock disgust, “They’re just upstart Greeks. They stole our gods. And our religion.” Pete held up two fingers, “Twice!”

Coolness wasn’t what made you love someone. It didn’t build the love. The vulnerability did. The quiet moment where Pete, often so loud, sat and said admitted how he didn’t think anyone liked him anymore, or how he wasn’t popular anymore and he was kind of cool with it, when they ran off togethr and it was just the two of them and no one, not even the small circle of friends they maintained mattered. As the sun set on Saturday and he looked over the Orthodox church he would have Pete take him too in the morning, he thought of the first time with him, when he had knelt on hands and knees and Pete had had stretched over him, pushing and pushing, going deeper and deeper until his hands flew up and his body shook and he came. Under him, his hips grasped in pete’s hands, he wished he could see his face when he came. When he closed his eyes he could see his face as he came. Peter, so dignified, so hilarious, so untouchable, fucking him, grapsingh is hips, stretched across him and shuddering as he shot his shot.



On Sunday morning, though he wishes Orthodox people believed in sitting down, he is carried away by the light, the glimmering gold, the incense of the service. When the sermon is done, the voices of the choir lead the people and as they prepare for Communion they sing over and over



“Agios Theos, Agios Ischyros, Agaios Athanatos! Eliesanimas!”



This morning he woke in Pete’s arm feeling his warm kisses on his back, treasuring the strength in his limbs and that slight spicy smell that was the smell of Pete. They burrowed together and he felt Pete, a hot, firm and undeniable presence moored in his ass cheeks.



“Agios Theos, Agios Ischyros, Agaios Athanatos! Eliesanimas!





He rode him as the sun rose, knelt over him, straddled his hips, sat on him and took him all in. They looked into each others eyes while Swann’s fingers linked with Pete’s and pressed him down. In the end, mouth open, gripping the pillow, he became a vibrating sound as, like he wanted, Pete pummeled him, the two of them out of their minds with a thumping desire so unlike, and yet not unlike this quiet of two young men, side by side in sutis, Pete of the always groom hair and pocket hankerchief whom, wet and hot and naked, he held only a little while ago, the two of them catching their breaths while they squeezed together on the damp sheets.



“Agios Theos, Agios Ischyros, Agaios Athanatos! Eliesanimas!



In Catholic churches they only sing this on Good Friday. They should sing it all the time.



Holy is God. Holy and strong! Holy and Immortal One have mercy on us…



The preamble before receiving the bread and the wine that is the living God entered into those things of earth which were not living, which is the sign of incarnation. Here there is incense and song. Past Pete’s cologne is that spicy smell of Pete, of his skin and armpits, of the dark place between his thighs and the secret road from balls to anus. There is divinity as well, entered into the short space of humanity. There is the Incarnation too. This was heresy. But yes, he was a heretic. He was almost at peace with that.



Later they sing:





The angel cried to the Lady Full of Grace:

Rejoice, O Pure Virgin!
Again I say: Rejoice!
Your Son is risen from His three days in the tomb!
With Himself He has raised all the dead!
Rejoice, all you people!



Shine! Shine! O New Jerusalem!
The Glory of the Lord has shone on you!
Exalt now and be glad, O Zion!
Be radiant, O Pure Theotokos,
in the Resurrection of your Son!



In the golden morning, after first sex Peter looked at the giant gold plated watch he always wore, gold in a bright way different from the light on the bronze hair down his arms.

:We got a little bit of time,” he murmured. “We got enough time.”

Before Swann could ask him what he meany, Pete kissed him deeply, filling his mouth with his tongue, turned over on his stomach, showing his beautiful body, the body of someone Swann guiltily thought, who worked out every day. Peter brought Swann inside of him. Swann shuddered as as sensation went to his cock, lengthening, swelling, stiffening, pushing, plunging now deep inside of Peter who shouted and rejoiced, arching his head back even as he pulled Swann in. As the sun crested the sky, shining white and hot through the thin curtain, Swann cried out, and spurted.

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was cool to learn about some of Swann and Peter’s past. I think it’s a good thing that they are going to the funeral. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

AND HERE IS THE WEEKEND PORTION



When he was a kid, every weekend Swann’s parents would make the long drive out of Evanston to South Shore where his mother’s family lived. They would travel south on Sheridan Road as it curved toward Chicago. On one side of the long drive was the cemetery and on the other, after the sharp drop of rocks, the great and endless blue of Lake Michigan, and at the end of this curved road was Chicago. They journeyed down Sheridan Road until it passed Broadway, until it passed Mundeleine College and the street was in permanent darkness dwarved by high rises and now and again impressive old buildings luing out among them but at last, before they broke free of Sheridan Road and turned onto Lake Shore Drive, there was Saint Andrew’s Greek Orthodox Church.

He was always fascinated by that church. Protestants didn’t interest him, not really, except Anglicans, and sometimes Lutherans. But the idea that there was an equally ancient church, but one where people did things in a funny way fascinated him. He had a great desire to go into a Greek Church or, at least, meet a Greek, and he knew part of this was why he had been fascinated by Pete Agalathagos. He loved being with Pete, loved being his friend, loved the offhanded way in which he talked about Protestants and hinted that he and his cousins did something different than what everyone at Saint Francis did, so when Pete finally asked him if he wanted to go to church with him one weekend, he could barely contain his excitement. He did contain it, or at least he likes to think he did, but he had been curious since the two of them had met.

All of the Greek kids were excused from Mass at Saint Francis and over time Swann realized that meant they simply slept in or left school and went somewhere else on Sunday. On Sundays, Pete drove two towns over and attended The Church of the Dormition. It felt old, like a Catholic church, and it smelled heavily of incense, but it was round. That was the best way Swann could describe it, opposed to the sort of square rectangliness of a Catholic church, And there were no statues, but everywhere everywhere, solemn wide eyed ikons. He remembered bringing kids who weren’t Catholic to his church and being irritated by their stupidity, or by their lack of solemnity, and he knew that Peter took his faith very seriously. He knew it, if this made sense, by the way Peter didn’t talk about it. He followed everything Pete did, learned to cross himself appropriately. Pete had made friends with these people, and even though he was still a teenager, they spoke to him like he was an adult. Pete taught him how to behave like a grown up in this world.

When he was sixteen, Swann had gone to that church with Pete, clinging to his back as he rode his Vespa. This was the same year when later they would look at each other and then kiss but Swann imagined as he’d clung to Pete’s back and now and again Pete would momentarily look back at him, something was beginning even then, and without that moment this current Sunday would not be happening.



When mass is well over, when the Church of the Dormition smells thick with myrrh, twenty-one year old Swann dares to make his way to the icon of Mary, red veiled, wide eyed, and with one of the semi burned sticks crookedly placed in the sand tray, lights on votive from the remains of another. He kneels, chin on his fisted hands and watches the flames chase shadows over the Virgin’s face.

“Can I pray with you?” Pete whispers.

Swann nods and Pete kneels beside him.

“Did he die alone?” Peter said at last.

“I know he didn’t die alone. That man killed him, tossed him down a hole. But…. did he feel alone? Did he feel alone and far away? How was he in that moment. He was a good guy, no one deserved that.”

Swann said nothing.

“Swann?”

“Sometimes I’m so tired I don’t know what to pray for. All I do is kneel and say nothing,” Swann said.

“I think God understands the times when I have nothing to say,”





It’s good to be home again, and Swann does think of Dwenger Hall as home. Pete is already driving away, headed back to Indianapolis when Swann comes through the front door and coming out of the kitchen, Katey and Trisha greet him.

“There’s a huge pizza in there. None of us felt like going to the caf, and I know I’m not cooking.”

“Thanks.”

“Have a good time?”

“Yes, but it’s good to be back.”

Upstairs he thinks of calling Jill or Chuck when he sees a sign on his door.



Welcome home. Let us know when you’re back

-Mark and Joe



For some time Swann stands there wondering whose handwriting it is, Mark’s or Joe’s, and then he is about to unlock his door when the door behind him opens and Joe leans out in his usual white sweatshirt, munching messily on a burger and says, “Great, you’re home. Com’on over.”



“Pete was here?” Mark said in disbelief.

“Well, he dropped me off. I was with him for the weekend.”

“Pete Agalathagos,” Mark said in a wondering way, stroking his chin. “It’s been a moment since I’ve heard that name.”

Joe shrugged, “I’m sure he’ll be at the funeral.”

“I’ve been to a lot of funerals,” Jill said. “But not for someone my age.”

“Should I go too?” Chuck asked, playing with his toes “For moral support?”

“You could if you wanted to,” Swann said. “I’d appreciate it, but at the same time, it’s not required.”

“It’ll probably be crowded anyway” Joe said.

“Where is it? Swann wondered.

Mark answered, “They’re having it at Saint Francis, in the old chapel.”

“Just like a school mass,” Swann said.

Mark cocked his head.

“You think they’d have it at his family’s church, or…. I don’t know.”

“Apparently he thought we were his family,” Joe said. “Or at least his parents thought that way. To them Saint Francis was the place that mattered the most to him.”

Swann looked to Jill and then Chuck and said, “For the record, do not have my funeral mass out of Saint Francis.”

“I wasn’t going to give you a funeral mass at all,” Jill said.

“Just scatter me?”

“It’s good for the soil.”

“Yawl are fucked up,” Chuck declared.

“Yes,” Jill and Swann agreed.

Mark noticed, as they were all talking, Swann pulling the rings from his fingers. The large one that had fallen the other day slid off, but the gold one and the black and silver one and the checkerboard patterned one he pulled off slowly and then, in his hand, began turning them about so that they made a tinny sound as they jingled against one another.

“A trash compactor?” Mark heard Chuck say. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, seriously, and Mark shifted back into the conversation.

“Yeah. It seems like he got in a fight with some guy.”

“I don’t really remember him,” Jill said. “But, I don’t remember him being a fighter. He was on the swim team.”

“It’s just…” Chuck began.

Mark squeezed his knees together, pressing his back against the wall.

“There was this kid. Our age. In fact, he went to my K through 8. He got shoved down a manhole.”

“That’s fucked up,” Jill said.

“There’s more. The manhole was…. I don’t know… They were letting pressure out or something, so the manhole was filled with boiling water and steam. He fell twenty feet, into this boiling water and steam. They couldn’t get his body out for three hours.”

Joe’s eyes widened and Chuck said, “Unbelievable.”

They were all very quiet for a moment, and then Jill said:

“You know what’s unbelievable?”

“Huh?”

“Swann’s been getting stuck in manholes for years, and he’s just fine.”

No one said anything because no one understood her, and then suddenly Swann laughed, and now he and Jill were laughing together and by the time Joe understood, Chuck was laughing too, and Mark was looking horrified.

“You’re a terrible human being,” Swann said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and as Joe tried to stop himself from laughing, Jill admitted, “You’re right. I kind of am.”

 

[ChrisGibson]

Jill left around eleven, throwing her arms around Swann and said, “It’s good to have you back. Chuck stood up, low fived him and palmed his head.

“We got core lecture in the morning.”

“I,” Swann stretched and yawned, “may be sleeping through it.”

“We’re all going,” Joe said.

“We’re all going,” Swann said, “but even if I’m there I’ll be sleeping through it.”

After Jill and Chuck were gone, things were much quieter, but Swann had the feeling Joe and Sal didn’t want him to leave, and he didn’t want to. Joe was frowning over his calculus and Sal, the hood of red shirt pulled up, sat beside Swann, reading.

“Courtney,” he said.

“Uh huh?” said Swann.

“I broke up with her.”

Swann was about to say something noncommittal when he caught himself, sat up, and pushing up his glasses said, “How do you feel about that?”

Sal tilted his head, almost but not quite laughed, then said, though he didn't sound amused, “Like it’s the first honest thing I’ve done in a while. She cried and shouted at me, but I think she’ll be happy in the end.”

“And you?” Swann asked. “Are you happy?”

Sal shrugged.

“I’m happier,” he said.




“Are we early?” Mark asked as they entered the vestibule.

Jill had come in behind them, beside Chuck, and now she was stopping to step into her heels.

“Looks like it,” Swann answered, seeing the wide old chapel he remembered, but currently less than half filled.

“Is Chris coming?” Jill asked.

“I don’t know, but Doug might be.”

“Doug?” Jill looked surprised.

“I know,” Swann nodded.

“The program said it didn’t start till about an hour from now. I told you we left too early,”

“And I told you,” Pete said, pushing up his glasses, “that it’s better to be early than late. You should wait for that which will not wait for you.”

“That’s for buses and planes, not for funerals.”

“As long as we’re early,” Mark said, “let’s look around.”

“We could find our old rooms,” Joe suggested.

“This is not a high school reunion,” Swann reminded them in a whisper as a group of others came up the steps and into the vestibule. “This is a funeral.”

Mark gave him a look that Jill thought was the same kind of look kids gave their no fun parents.

“Are you telling me you don’t want to look around?”

“I wanna look around,” Jill raised her hand.

“I wanna look around too,” Chuck said.

Mark looked down at Swann with a raised eyebrow.

“Let’s go,” Swann said, and while others were coming in, they headed to the old door in the left wall of the vestibule that led into the dormitories.

“Swann!” they heard a voice hiss. “Swann.”

Swann turned around and the other turned with him.

Standing in the midst of the new crowd coming in, all in black, almost as impeccable as Pete and looking very much like, but very much unlike his cousin, stood Douglass Merrin the Third, sometimes called:

“Duck!” Joe said.

“Well, hey Joseph!” Doug said. He looked from Joe to Mark and Swann looked from Doug to to Joe.

Doug asked, “Are you guys doing something you shouldn’t be?”

“Yes,” his older cousin said.

“Great,” Doug said. “Let me join you.”



When Douglass Merrin heard that Garrett was dead, it was from Chris Navarro, and it took a while to get the whole truth out of him. At first Steve couldn’t get the name, and then he couldn’t get the actually happening. It was a whirlpool, it was a trash compacter. It was something strange. It was even, possibly, that he had jumped or been pushed onto the third rail on the elevated train in Chicago. In the end, Doug just called his cousin. He actually hadn’t expected Swann to know anything. For the two years they had been at Saint Francis together, Swann had been increasingly disassociated from the student body, so he was surprised to learn that Swann not only knew about Garrett, but was going to the funeral.

“I hadn’t expected that from you, Cousin,” Doug said.

“Well,” Swann was reflective about this, and this was the same night he’d heard about it from Joe, the night Joe and Mark had fought, “to be honest, I hadn’t expected it from myself. The heart’s a surprising bastard.”

It certainly was, because the truth was Douglass Merrin had no great love for this school, or for most of the boys he’d attended it with, and the day he left, he couldn’t be gone soon enough, so he was surprised that when Swann asked him if he wanted to go, he said yes.

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to get back to this story and such a large portion. The upcoming funeral has really reunited people. Very sad what happened but at least they all have each other for support when remembering Garrett. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Great to get back to this story and such a large portion. The upcoming funeral has really reunited people. Very sad what happened but at least they all have each other for support when remembering Garrett. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

It is interesting because Swann doesn't really know Garrett, and neither does Doug and yet they came anyway.