Dream Boy (11 page)

“I
had fun the other night.”

“So
did I.”

Nathan
busies himself spreading the quilts. When Roy heads to his house, the open door
floods the bam with light. He waits in the rectangle a moment, his long shadow
bisecting the stream of light. But whatever weighs on his mind, he asks
nothing.

The
door swings closed and Nathan is alone. The bam seems larger now that it is all
dark again. The quiet and stillness are welcome. Nathan lies back along the
mattress, newspaper rustling. He inhales the aroma of old straw, the dusky
undertones of dried manure, a whiff of rotted apple, other odors he cannot
identify. Around him, shadow shapes are forming in the dim light that spills
through the cracks in the walls; the stored farm equipment, the tractor and
covered plows, protective, like sleeping giants. He studies the unfamiliar
space and tries to make himself comfortable on the mattress, grateful that he
is inside for the night. Tired after two nights of fitful rest, he sleeps more
soundly than he would have thought possible.

In the
morning, he wakens to the sight of Roy, who sits on the edge of the mattress.
Nathan did not even hear the door open. “Good morning. Did you
sleep?”

Nathan
rubs his eyes. “Yes.”

“Your
mom is awake. The light's on in your kitchen.”

Nathan
stretches, sits up. “What time is it?”

“Early.”
Roy thumps his shoulder affectionately. Indicating the quilts, he says, I’ll
hide these. You go get ready for school. Okay?"

When
Nathan rises, Roy brushes close to him, kisses his cheek. Then Roy busies
himself getting feed for the chickens. Nathan hurries to his house, leaving the
bam by the back.

A cold,
clear morning greets him. Nothing much has changed inside the rooms; his mother
hardly speaks to him, his father lurks out of sight. His room lies exactly as
he left it. He rushes to spend as little time as possible there, washing off at
the sink, throwing on clothes, gathering schoolbooks.

So his
life settles into a kind of twisted routine, and for the rest of the week he
hides in the graveyard and sleeps in the bam, with Roy's sanction. After school
he does his homework as quickly as he can, sometimes daring to work at his
desk, in his room, or sometimes studying outside in the last of daylight, in
the graveyard by the pond. Mom readies his supper early, before Dad comes home,
and when she calls, he enters and eats quickly. The food is set out on the
table as if by chance, Mom never stays. As soon as he has eaten, he retreats
outside again, to spend the early evening hours in the graveyard or near the
pond. Roy keeps him company then, if his own chores are finished, if they are
not going to church, and if he can get away from his parents.

Nathan
becomes a visitor to his former life, moving like a stranger in his own house,
gliding through the kitchen, slipping quickly through doorways and along
stairs. At his appearance, Mom retreats into other rooms. It is as if, as long
as she does not see him, she can pretend that everything is fine, that he is
still living in the house, that he is simply out of sight. The whispered sounds
of her various habits, needlepoint and Bible reading, are the only signs of her
presence.

Even
when he sees her, early in the morning when he slides into the kitchen, she
remains somewhere out of reach. Across her face drift strange, sudden
expressions: fury, heartache, confusion, fury again, then quiet despair. Her
whispered good mornings fade by Wednesday to the merest nod of the head. Nathan
moves cautiously when he is near her, as if they have become animals circling
each other.

She
never asks where he shelters himself at night She never asks how he stays warm,
where he sleeps. She pretends. Never once, during the whole week, does she
neaten his bedroom, make the bed or fold the blankets in the corner. They lie
as he left them, the night Dad tripped over the cord and Nathan fled. Time
stopped. The room has become a haunted place.

On
Thursday, when he has dressed for school and is headed out of the kitchen for
the school bus, into the kitchen Dad suddenly lumbers, terrifying and large. He
shambles toward the refrigerator in white underwear, his blue pocked belly
overhanging the elastic, his craggy chest shivered with goose flesh. Nathan
stops breathing, caught in the doorway. Dad smiles. The kitchen echoes with his
cough. He ogles Nathan up and down and his eyes, red rimmed, fill with longing.
He steps toward Nathan without warning and Nathan backs up, a corner catches
him and all at once there is no world, there is only Dad's white belly
shivering with blood and Dad's breath blowing down from above, the shadow
falling over Nathan's face. Nathan's heart batters his ribs. A sound falters.
Mom's voice emerges from the other room and her footsteps cause Dad to turn.
“Who's in the kitchen, Nathan?”

She
stands in the doorway to see. Her flesh has gone gray. She is staring at her
husband as if he has stepped onto the linoleum from another world.

Nathan
slips free of the corner and hurtles out of the house; breathless, he reaches
the bus at a dead run. Pushing open the cold metal door, he huddles in the
chilled interior till Roy finds him.

“Is
anything wrong?” Roy asks, seeing his stricken face. But there are no
words, no words will come. Roy, so close to his own parents and his own real
life, does not even dare embrace him. He studies the light in Nathan's kitchen,
a long time, before settling into the driver's seat.

Puzzled,
mostly silent, Roy has remained a steady guardian. Each morning he has come to
the bam early, to wake Nathan when he starts his chores. He warms the bus ahead
of schedule and watches the back door of Nathan's house. He acts as if this is
the most natural change of habit in the world, and they drive away. During
school they keep to their usual pattern, eating lunch together, then hanging
out on the smoking patio with Burke and Randy. At night they wander in the
woods, along the edge of the pond and among the slanted shadows of tombstones.
They never discuss what has happened. Roy never asks, and Nathan never
volunteers.

They
talk with their bodies. Roy says he is sorry again and again and never makes a
sound. In the woods, in the shadow of the tombstone of Sarah Jane Kennicutt, on
the path to the Indian mound; never in the barn, for fear someone will hear.
Never near the houses. They hold each other on the borders of the farm, at the
edge of wild country, they speak with their hands.

Sometimes
when Roy watches, a question can be read in his eyes. Who is Nathan, why is Roy
with him? Nathan can almost hear the words. Who is Nathan?

Roy
goes away with his family to Wednesday night prayer meeting. Evelyn will be
there. Nathan pictures her as blond and tall, with a sweet face, plump, round
breasts and full, wide hips. She is waiting for Roy at the door to the
sanctuary. She is holding a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

The
late nights are the hardest times, after Roy says goodbye and closes the barn
door. The smells, the unfamiliar shadows and sounds, trouble Nathan's sleep.
The dirtiness of the mattress and the dust of the straw beside it make him
cough, and at times he becomes afraid Dad will hear him. He wonders, when he
will allow himself to think of it, how long he can go on hiding.

On
Friday, while they are lounging on the smoking patio, Roy lets Nathan taste his
bitter cigarette. He inhales sharply, the hot smoke searing his lungs. The
choking and coughing that follow bring general laughter, and Burke and Randy
clap Nathan on the back. There follows a moment of such sheer friendliness that
Nathan loses his fear of Randy and even of Burke. When Nathan catches his
breath they are talking about camping, about the trip to Handle they discussed
when they were diving off the railroad trestle, Roy, Burke, and Randy. Roy is
including

Nathan
in the plans for the trip, and Nathan realizes with relief that this could
solve the problem of how to get through the weekend.

Near
the end of the day, Nathan finds Roy waiting outside Advanced Math. The
surprise of his appearance helps Nathan to see him fresh and vivid once again,
tall and strongly made in his jeans and denim jacket, the high bones of his
face darkened with a trace of beard, his lips cut in a lopsided smile. Fierce
eyes shock from beneath dark thick brows. Roy falls in silently beside Nathan
and they head under the canopy to another class. “You think it's a good
idea to go camping this weekend? If you're worried about your mom, I can ask
her for you.”

Nathan
remembers the sliding shadow in her housecoat, the deepening dark circles under
her eyes. “It'll be okay. She'll let me go.”

They
have arrived at Nathan's final class. Roy has led the way, and at the last
moment lays his hand on Nathan's shoulder. The almost hidden gesture passes
unnoticed in the general commotion of classes changing, but for Nathan the
brief nervous flare sears him. I’ll see you after school."

Roy
hurries to his own class. Nathan takes his seat in Biology, opening his text to
the chapter on cell mitochondria.

The bus
ride home is intimate in a way Nathan can hardly credit, as if, out of all the
noisy creatures on the bus, only he and Roy truly exist. Even when Nathan looks
out the window at the tattered autumn fields, Roy watches from the overhead
mirror, eyes hanging in the air.

He
stops the bus on the dirt road, when all the others have gone. He calls Nathan
to the front of the bus. The press of his body is familiar and heady. He traps
Nathan's head against his chest. They hold still against each other, breathless
through silence, till the distant drone of a truck motor warns them of itself.
Roy releases Nathan unhurriedly. “We won't have to worry about this kind
of shit in the woods.”

Still
without hurry, he reclaims the driver's seat and they finish the drive home,
sliding into the parking place beneath laced branches.

Nathan
gathers his books. When he stands, so does Roy. They walk together to Nathan's
house.

In the
kitchen, Mom faces Roy with hardly a trace of surprise. Roy stands straight,
brushes back his hair, asking his question in a manner that manages to be both
courteous and bold. He says he wants to take Nathan camping for the weekend,
till late Sunday, and he's sorry not to have asked sooner but him and his
friends just thought of the trip and this is the perfect weekend for it, almost
the last one, really. The weatherman says it's going to be warm and pretty,
like a little taste of summer. He says he'll look after Nathan and nothing will
happen to him. She laughs nervously when he finally stops talking. “Nathan
doesn't even have a sleeping bag.”

“I
have an extra one.”

He
faces her with calm assurance. Something about his directness makes her shy
away, as from a too bright lamp, and she turns aside. “Yes, I guess it's a
good idea.”

“Pardon
me, ma'am?”

“I
said I guess it's all right. He can go.” She nods her head toward Nathan
without looking at him.

Roy
comes upstairs with Nathan to pack, counting what he should bring on his
fingers. The fact that Nathan's dad could come home any time adds urgency, and
they move quickly. Nathan owns no backpack so he gathers clothes and
necessities in a bundle for packing at Roy's house.

Roy
explains the camping trip to his mother with an air of presumption. Nathan and
he are to meet Burke and Randy at the Indian mound as soon as possible so maybe
they can hike farther into the woods before sunset. This means you need to
hurry, Roy says, moving deliberately from one task to the next. He sets his
mother to packing provisions, and she slices bacon and cheese and wraps slices
of bread in plastic. Roy gives Nathan clear, concise instructions on counting
tent pegs, bundling them properly, tightening their shared canteen so it does
not leak, fastening the snap over the head of the knife to keep it sheathed. He
checks everything and finally divides the bundle into two packs. Nathan's is
lighter but the weight is still substantial, and the fact pleases Nathan in an
odd way. He walks easily even with the weight on his back. He feels suddenly
sturdy, as if he could carry the pack forever, and walk forever, into the
woods.

Roy's
mother stands in the yard to wave them off. Nathan's mother is nowhere to be
seen.

It is
easy for Nathan to refuse to look back. He has been granted two days of safety,
and the woodland enfolds him in green gold. By now the pond and cemetery are
familiar landmarks, and Nathan knows by certain signs—the particular twist of a
branch, the bend of the creek that runs through the woods here—that they are
following the path to the Indian mound. Roy's long strides set an easy pace and
his silence engulfs Nathan so that both move with attention to quiet. The
country thereabouts is haunted with memories of the courtship between the boys,
and near the creek bed they look at each other. “Don't say anything about
that,” Roy warns, but he is laughing when he says it.

On the
Indian mound they see two figures waiting. Burke and Randy hoist their
backpacks, moving in tandem. Burke hollers, “About time you lazy assholes
got here,” and Roy answers, “I get where I'm going exactly when I
please,” as he and Nathan climb the mound.

A
shyness overtakes Nathan during the climb, and he is almost speechless when
Randy claps him on the back. “I see you got your ma to let you come with
us. That's good, I'm glad.”

Burke
spits into a patch of golden leaves, saliva stretching to a thread.
“Nathan ain't no baby.”

Wind
sends a shower of maple leaves around them. The sharp chill of approaching dusk
wakens Nathan to his freedom. Randy asks where they're going, and Roy answers,
with an air of mystery that restores his swagger, that it's a secret place his
uncle showed him, a good long walk into the woods, pretty far from everything.
Up toward Handle, a direction the others seem to know. Burke and Randy ask more
questions but Roy refuses answers. They will have to wait and see.