Jim Grimsley - Dream Boy

This is the place where he will meet Burke. Never in the attic, only here. Confused, pacing up and down the bank of the dark creek, Burke will be watching the road. It will be his image, it will always linger. It will wait for Nathan, it will wish for Roy. It will take off its shirt, it will be a man.

At the place where the boys camped for the night during the storm, Nathan sits under the tree at the edge of the clearing where they cooked and told stories. The rock circle at the center of the clearing holds the ghost of the fire. The blue of the sky has begun to deepen with clouds, as if a storm is coming. In the tremulous wind he kneels at the creek to bathe again. With careful motion he cleans his swollen lips, his bruised face. His hair feels soft and supple in his fingertips.

He rests again on the Indian mound later in the afternoon, sitting at the top where the grassy summit sails above the treetops. He can see all the way to the western horizon, the royal purple of the clouded sky, a sliver of sun behind the clouds that bursts into a piercing ray.

The mound is a haven, and there Nathan feels less alone. The calm green of the grass restores itself as the storm clouds thin and the sun swells again. It is easy to be here. The mound as a place of memory offers safety; he can remember the first time Roy brought him here. He can linger there, in that space of day as he remembers it. He can safely remember many things about Roy, he can even remember Roy turning his back and walking away. It was only once, only one time.

But the thought of Roy makes him restless. Finding Roy. Though Nathan is very tired now, he stands again, ignoring the fierce pain in his legs.

In the late afternoon he comes to the clearing that leads to the pond. He walks through the cemetery, past the cherub and his stubby wings, along the pond's edge. He keeps to the forest, walking the long way round the far end of the pond. He stops close to the houses. The yards are empty, eerie quiet emanating from beyond. The school bus sits under the trees. Dad's car is out of sight.

A woman stands on each of the porches. Each is looking into the woods, as if she has lost something there. Nathan recognizes his own mother, and Roy's. Roy's mother wears the faded blue apron Nathan has seen before. She crosses the yard to dump a pan of scraps into the compost heap near one comer of the bam. Her large body moves with rolling steps, in waves of fat. She returns to stand at the door again, her expression again obscured by the screen.

Nathan's own mother keeps her vigil further back, leaning on the doorjamb with the kitchen visible behind her. She hovers in shadow, and Nathan sees little more than her silhouette and stance. But he recognizes her by the crooked way she crosses her arms, one hand dangling loose. She carries the familiar aura of weariness, of having a veil over her vision. But he can feel her searching. She has not forgotten.

Nathan remains hidden in the shadow at the edge of the trees. Wondering why Roy's mother is searching. Wondering whether Roy ever came home.

He has no clear image of where he is headed as a final destination until he hears the music through the trees. It is late. The storm has cleared but the sun is low. A thin thread of piano and organ, "Blessed Redeemer, Jesus Is Mine" drifts from beyond.

Ahead, where the forest abruptly stops, the slanted sunlight falls very clear and bright. A green lawn slopes downward to where another creek flows, nestled among shaggy cedars. In the lap of that lawn a white church blazes, its sharp steeple rising above a broad oak.

Nathan waits at the top of the slope, hidden among the trees. Down the hill a lot of cars are parked in the grass, and people dressed like Sunday evening stand in the yard. The service has ended, and people are coming out of the sanctuary. The music continues, "Just As I Am, without One Plea." No one is singing, only the piano and organ play.

Then out of the church comes Roy.

He has been crying. A girl in a white dress walks with him. They move slowly as if they are underwater, and for a moment Nathan is mesmerized by the sight. A preacher talks in Roy's ear, offering comfort. The girl in the white dress strokes Roy's hair. The fact of the church service has lent her radiance; the white dress makes Nathan think this is their wedding, but no, there are no other signs, no car decorated with streamers, no showers of dry rice. It is only a white dress. Here is Evelyn with Roy. Roy lifts his head.

Now a lot of people crowd the churchyard. The sky over the steeple is flushing pink. When Nathan steps out of the woods, they all see him.

Nobody knows him but Roy. For a moment he can only stand there.

Roy releases Evelyn's arm, gently insistent. He walks toward Nathan with only a little hesitation. She follows him for a few steps. It may be that she calls his name, but there is a lot of noise in the churchyard, as the piano strikes up "Standing on the Promises."

Roy calmly walks toward Nathan. When he is close enough to be sure of what he sees, he runs.

He stops a few feet away. His heart is visibly pounding, fear and confusion surround him. He finds his voice with some effort. His eyes are glittering. "How did you get here?"

"I walked."

Someone else must have recognized Nathan, other people are starting to approach them now. Nathan reaches for Roy's hand but at the last moment is afraid to touch it. He backs away.

The motion makes Roy desperate. "Stop. Where are you going?"

"I don't think I can stay here."

"Stop. Please." His eyes are bright and glittering. He looks behind, at the shining church, at the scattering of people approaching across the lawn. Nathan retreats another few steps and Roy stumbles toward him. He reaches, arms out. "I didn't mean to leave you. I went back to that room but you were gone. Please don't go away again."

They are close. At first Nathan can hardly feel anything, can hardly feel Roy's hands. But then he can feel the warmth, and he can smell Roy's breath. And suddenly Nathan is certain he still has a body: because he can feel Roy near him, can smell the sweetness of his clean hair, his fresh shaven mustache. Suddenly they are embracing each other, disregarding everything that has happened, disregarding even the crowd of other people as they approach.

They face each other. The moment lengthens—the green of evening, the clear piano, the freshness of the white dress. The sweetness of living. Nathan waits and watches.

Finally he asks the question that has made him afraid all this time. "How long have I been gone?"

"Today." Roy can hardly form the words. "We left you today. The sheriff just went back with your dad. To get you." He breaks off, watching Nathan.

He is understanding, now. He is choosing. He looks deep into the trees.

Nathan turns and breaks into a gait between a limp and a trot. After a moment, silent, Roy follows, and takes his hand.

It is a relief that they can feel each other, that their hands are warm. It is a relief that they are in the same world. They disappear into the woods.

They stop to rest a little way inside the forest, under a gingko tree, its golden leaves showering around them as they get their breath. They have arrived on the evening when all of the gingko leaves will fall, leaving the tree naked as a skeleton. The tree stands in an open glade, catching the last shreds of light. Nathan says he needs to sit for a minute, and Roy says fine, and they sit, with the gingko leaves piling slowly around them, a snowdrift of saffron and amber.

They keep very quiet, listening for sounds of pursuit Roy slides an arm around Nathan's shoulders. Nathan feels all the reticence with which the gesture is performed, then sighs and leans against Roy. "You were dead," Roy says, but his tone is more of confiding than disapproving. "I saw you."

"I know."

They are aware, especially, of their own warmth in the pile of leaves.

"What do we do now?"

"Run away."

The notion of leaving hovers, they breathe it in. Roy examines the wound in Nathan's skull, a distracted quality to his scrutiny, as if he is seeing another picture. The image of fresher blood.

"Any how. Our preacher preached this evening about how the dead will rise." Roy drops his Bible into the grass. "I guess we could go up north somewhere."

The words drift skyward. They sit till they are half buried in gold leaves. Roy's white shirt gleams. He pulls Nathan against him and for a while they become one flesh. Roy is rapt, as if he is singing inside. Or maybe it is more as if he is blossoming, a flower opening at this very moment. Nathan remembers, oddly, Preacher John Roberts leaning over the pulpit toward the congregation in puzzlement, in confusion at the notion of the Disciple John resting his head on Jesus's chest. Nathan rests his head there on Roy and understands. In the distance they hear the voices of people searching for them in the woods. They stand and go. They never look back.