Alone Together

continued.

Despite anyone's worst fears, I still exist and am still working on the story. This chapter, as you know, was supposed to be done quite some time ago. But my increasingly hectic life, and my desire to get these last chapters just right, conspired to make hang on to this one for longer than I had hoped to. There is, however, a bit of fortuity in the time, since this chapter deals with Christmas in many ways, and - well, it is that season now. Please accept this chapter as my gift to all of you who still read this story, care about it, and ask that I see the journey of writing this to the end. In the next chapter, we will return to the Ryan/James story-line - I think. Until then, stay well, play safe, and happy holidays.

DEDICATION: For Zack and Aaron, now more than ever.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction and solely a product of my imagination. To the extent that it uses the names of real people, it does so for fictional purposes only. This story also depicts romance between men, so if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read such things, you should stop reading now.

ALONE/TOGETHER

CHAPTER 45: OF LOVE ALONE: Part Six: The Mysteries, continued.

All throwing shapes, every one of them

Convinced he's in the right, all of them glad

To repeat themselves and their every last mistake,

No matter what.

~Seamus Heaney, The Cure at Troy (1991).

(a verse translation of Philoctetes, by Sophocles)

BRIGHT Star! would I were steadfast as thou art- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors:-

No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast 10 To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest;

Still, still to hear the tender-taken breath, And so live ever,-or else swoon to death.

~John Keats, (1795-1821)1

It was early Christmas morning, twenty-minutes past eight o'clock, and the hotel lobby was empty except for Aaron. He paced back and forth, six slow strides in each direction, glancing through the front window, and then again at his watch. The rain continued to fall in heavy drops, slapping against the window, curtaining it with water. He watched the overlapping ringlets on the sidewalk outside, illuminated by the street lamp and too numerous to count as the rain splashed the water pooled and overflowing there. The morning still looked like night.

"Man, it's dreary," he mumbled softly. "So dreary."

The duffle bag slung over his right shoulder slapped against his back as he continued to pace. The duffel's black leather strap, strung tightly across his chest, tugged at the front of his coat, pulling it closed. He tried to remember what he had packed. A pair of jeans. A hooded sweatshirt. The rain-hat Barry had loaned him. Enough socks he hoped. Boxer-briefs. A red v-neck sweater. Three t-shirts and his running gear. He thought it would be good to go running on a beach again, heels digging into sand, the sound of pounding waves keeping tempo with his breath, his mind clearing, his body in motion, moving without thought.

-The beach in Astoria is beautiful, Barry had said. So he was looking forward to seeing it. And the house he had rented at the last minute sat right next to the beach. The rental agent had said it would be a great spot to spend two days away from Portland, to escape to a place outside the city, with no particular plans except to hang out with his family, and to maybe see a few sights. He had for a moment still considered going home when he learned there would hardly be break from shooting. But he knew that the rush of arrival, followed by the too-soon rush of departure, would have made him sad and ruined what Christmas holiday there was to still be had. This way they could spend a whole week together, two days at the beach, and then the rest in Portland.

-Comcomly's tomb, Barry had suggested when he asked him what might be interesting to see. -And the Indian Burial Canoe that's a memorial to him. He was the Great Chief of the Chinook Nation, well-known to Lewis and Clark.

He was their friend, and helped to feed them in the winter. They might have perished without his help.

He smiled remembering Barry's enthusiasm as he showed him several pictures of the Great Chief, his tribe, and his original tomb, which had been plundered by English explorers eager to take the bones of an Indian Chief back to be displayed in a museum.

-Like he was some extinct species of bird, Barry had said disgusted. -Instead of a human being. Instead of a great man.

-I'm one-quarter Chinook, he had added. -On my mother's side. So there's warrior blood in me. You better be careful.

"I better be," Aaron whispered to himself, smiling as he recalled the flash in Barry's amber eyes, like fire flickered there.

The wind was picking up outside, renewing its onslaught, rattling the window, like an intruder threatening to come inside. But it was just your typical winter storm. Not really unusual for this time of year, he had been told more than once. People were always explaining the weather to him, half-apologetically, as if the rain was their fault, and by explaining it they were trying to make amends. You won't even notice it after a while, they would say. But how could you not notice weather like this? The constant drizzle, the sky low and nearly always grey, the wet wind whipping at your face, and the damp cold gnawing at you like a bad mood. Weather like this could make you forget what spring felt like.

Tired of pacing, he stopped and impatiently pulled the duffle-bag up over his head. It wasn't heavy but toting it back and forth had started to bother him. He put the duffel down next to the two shopping bags full of wrapped Christmas gifts he had earlier leaned against a chair. He smiled thinking of the things he had picked out, hoping each gift would be a surprise, would be wanted, would be liked. Jake had helped him wrap the gifts, showing him how to better curl the ribbon, and to tie elaborate bows. That was three days ago, after a late-night on the set.

-It's not a great present unless the way its wrapped says WOW! Jake had said. -I love unwrapping things.

A clock chimed and he looked at his watch. Eight-thirty now.

"Come on guys," he whispered. "Get here already."

His Dad had called from the airport twenty-five minutes ago, just as he was wishing Jake a Merry Christmas and kissing him good-bye at the door to his hotel room.

-Last night was awesome, he had told him, slipping his cell-phone back into his pocket. -And this morning too.

-No regrets then? Jake had said, looking up at him, his eyes bleary from too little sleep, but his smile as broad and bright as Aaron had ever seen it. -Be honest.

-No, no regrets. It was fun, really fun.

Now thoughts and memories of Jake crowded his thinking, mixing with the anxiety he felt at the prospect of seeing his dads again. For some reason, he feared that he had changed somehow, and that in some small but important way they would not recognize him. Six months ago he had embraced the idea that turning eighteen had made him a man. But now, for some reason, he felt oddly immature again, unable to explain his actions, like a little kid caught doing something wrong, taking and eating a cookie he had been told not to eat right before dinner, and being asked 'What are you doing Aaron? Why did you eat that?' And being only able to answer, 'I don't know.'

He was back with Cameron again. His Dad had asked after her last week on the phone. He had said that is was still really nothing, no big deal - which was true. It was no big deal to him. After that night at karaoke, he had spent several days avoiding her, more embarrassed than mad. But now they were hanging-out again, and hooking-up regularly. It was easier than trying to avoid her. And fucking her was still fun. Except now she said she loved him. And not just during sex. She said it all the time. She was even telling strangers, as if telling someone she did not know somehow made it true - or provable, and thus true in a different way, even though he was not sure how. He figured that it was the kind of thing she tended to say, over the top, exaggerated by excitement. Like saying how they should get engaged soon, how they should marry, and have kids.

-Just think how beautiful our children would be, don't you think so?

He had stammered an indiscernible reply, shocked at the escalation of her fantasy planning. He remembered his scalding blush, and his sudden intense interest in the salt and pepper shakers, staring at them as if he'd never seen anything so fascinating before. Not noticing his discomfort, or perhaps ignoring it, Cameron had proceeded to ask the waiter's opinion on the subject, tugging at his shirt-sleeve so they he could make no escape from her interrogation.

-Don't you think Aaron and I would have the most beautiful children ever?

The waiter had nodded yes, noticeably avoiding making eye-contact with anyone but Cameron. Stealing a quick glance upward, his eyes filed with unsaid apologies, he had watched the waiter blush, and waited to hear what he would say.

-No seriously, she had said, tugging on the poor waiter's sleeve again, unhappy with his silent nod, wanting him to agree with her out loud, to help her make her case. He was not sure who she had been trying to convince, him or herself. Maybe both.

-The most beautiful children ever?

-How could they not be, the waiter finally stammered. -Just look at you two. Aren't you both models? And movie stars too?

He had at that moment told himself then that it must be a kind of game for her, or mostly so - like playing let's-pretend, imagining how things might be if everything turned out just right, like Cinderella managing to snag the Prince and getting the last laugh over her stupid ugly step-sisters. But this was not a fairy tale; it was real life. And that was the problem. He could not imagine making a real life with Cameron, nor could he imagine even trying. He had to be honest with himself, if not her. He enjoyed the sex, and liked her company. She was pleasant, funny, and not complicated. Plus her room was only one-hundred feet from his, which meant she was convenient too - as crude as it might seem thinking of her that way. Or, for that matter, thinking about Jake that way too, since his room was even closer.

But no, with Jake it was different. At least so far it was. He was sweet and handsome, and more a real friend than Cameron was. In the beginning he was, before they had sex, which changed things in a less than subtle way. Suddenly, he was in charge, or so it seemed. He smiled remembering Jake's surprised gasp and widened eyes as he entered him last night, as the fist-tight grip of tender taut resistance seemed to hiccup open for him as he push-slipped-slid slowly into Jake, experiencing a sensation so utterly different and new that he still marveled at its possibility. Once inside, he had not lasted long, not like with Cameron, with whom he had to concentrate to come. With Jake the act was over soon, but not too soon to thrill. Jake's orgasm had been sudden and loud, setting off his own. He had felt Jake quake beneath him, and curse. Smiling he remembered Jake biting his shoulder, stammering into his skin, "Oh fuck, Aaron. Oh...my...fucking...fuck, fuck, fuck!" He had hardly slowed down, bucking beneath him, his heels digging into the small of his back, pulling his towards him, not wanting him to stop, until finally falling limp and gasping, Jake's red face stared up at him, exhausted.

He felt heat on the back of his neck like something crawling there; he knew that he was blushing as he remembered what he and Jake had done. He coughed a short embarrassed laugh into his fist, looked around, and then ran his right hand quickly through his hair. He could never tell his dad what had happened, which surprised him, because in theory, stripped of its specific facts, he knew that messing around with a guy was not something he should feel the need to hide. He should be able to say, "Hey dad, guess what - I did it, I've been with a man. I'm not gay, but-"

But what? He had flirted with Jake - or fiercely flirted back, once he realized that Jake was interested in him that way, quicker now to notice, not oblivious to attraction. The flirting became quickly a competition - the sexy banter, the double-entendres, winks and pinches and ass-slaps - all in fun. But then when that first playful kissing in his trailer had in a few days turned into playful fondling, hands on top of clothes and then under, the tempting thrill of Jake's mouth on his skin, the confident licks, nips, and kisses had been too much it seemed to find the will to say no to. So when Jake finally had him stripped of his clothes, naked and hard in his hand, then in his mouth, seduction became sex, fellatio, frottage, then finally fucking. It had felt dangerous and deeply satisfying in equal measures, like breaking a rule and not getting caught. But what rule had he broken? What rule really? Phlox would kill him if she knew. Phlox-fuck...

"Cameron you mean," Aaron said, glancing out the window again, then at his watch, frowning. "You dope."

No, Cameron could never know. With Cameron he had to be careful. She was insecure and her emotions as unruly as sheets on the bed after sex. Any misstep could set her off, anything unexpected or ugly. She preferred the pretty and predictable, which was not such a bad thing as far as he was concerned. He had no trouble with saying the things that needed to be said to keep the peace, things that pleased here, things that bolstered her good moods, things that kept her from pouting or complaining or becoming upset. He hated when she was upset. Or anyone really, which was another reason that he found himself liking Jake more; he never seemed upset.

Barry was the same way, except different. He was even-natured, and not prone to tempest or tantrum at all. Except, that is, when he was defending some principle, or arguing for some strongly-held belief - that was when he turned fiery. But even that was good, something he liked and respected - that Barry had convictions, and stuck furiously to them. You could count on Barry for the truth. He did not spin things, did not pretend to be someone he was not. And his eye was unerring for falsity, for fraud. When he was around Barry, he could not help but to be a truer form of who he was, or wanted to be.

-I could never be an actor, Barry had told him. -I don't like to pretend.

-See, that's what I love about you, he had said, doing his best imitation of Cameron, thinking it was funny at first, leaning in close as if to kiss him.

-You're so for real.

-Look, Barry had said, his tone stern but not angry, his body inflating with scary indignation. He seemed to grow taller, his gangly frame filling out with conviction. It was an impressive display, even in retrospect.

-I don't mess around like that. If you ever try to kiss me again, you better mean it. And you better ask permission first. Because I'm not made that way-open all night, ready for the taking. I don't just mess around. If you want me, you better expect to take all of me-and for good. I don't do part-time gigs or rent by the hour. I'll leave that to the happy-snappy prancing lover-boys of the world like you. I have better things to do.

Barry's words had silenced as much as stung. But he had accepted the criticism gracefully, and as his due. He respected Barry too much to argue.

He had to admit that he loved his stubborn integrity, and his strict but generous heart. He was grateful for the friendship that Barry offered, and the escape that his house had come to be, his battered couch a second home for him, and the breakfasts Barry made him before school most days felt like a blessing. More and more he found himself at Hamburger Mary's at night. Barry would let him hang-out at the bar and study. For the last few weeks, he would help him close, and walk Barry home, back to his rented ramshackle house and his amazingly vast collection of used books, which you had to step over and around, still knocking the occasional pile over. Whenever they talked, no matter about what, Barry was always jumping up to grab a book to demonstrate or support some point, or to read a passage that he had remembered and wanted suddenly to share. Barry was...

"Sir-"

Aaron felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around, still in a daze of thoughts. It was a bellman whose name he suddenly could not recall. He was an older man with thinning hair and eyes that sagged at the corners.

"Hey," Aaron said, grabbing the man's hand and shaking it. "What's up?"

"I believe your ride's here sir."

"Right," Aaron said, laughing as he slapped himself on the forehead. "I was kind of daydreaming, I guess."

"Lost in thought," the man said. "The holidays tend to do that to me as well, for some reason. A time to consider things I suppose."

"Yes, consider."

"That must be your fathers outside," the man said, smiling. "Is that right?"

"Yes it is," Aaron said, patting him on the shoulder. "So I've got to scoot."

"I'll get these for you," the man said, stooping to pick up Aaron's bags.

"Nah-I got it."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Merry Christmas then sir."

"Yeah, you too," Aaron said. "I'll see you in a couple of days - Frank, right?"

"Yes, it's Frank sir."

"With three daughters -Emily, August, and Felice. Plus a cat named Hector," Aaron said with a smile. "Now I remember."

"Yes you do sir," the man said, smiling. "Which I appreciate greatly.

And your gifts as well. It was very kind of you to get me and the rest of the staff something. We are all quite appreciative, truly."

"Well, it was the least I could do," Aaron said. "You've all been great."

Aaron glanced out the window and saw JC waving from the passenger-side of an SUV. The smile on his face, even blurred by the rain-splattered window, seemed suddenly a most beautiful thing, and at first glance inexplicable, like a rainbow. Aaron smiled back and waved just as Lance's face appeared next to JC's, completing the picture, and making Aaron nearly cry. He had not realized, until this exact moment, seeing them together right there, how much he had missed the two of them. Taking a deep breath, he wished Frank Merry Christmas again, and shook his hand, and headed for the hotel's front door. He was finally on his way.

"Jaysus-I'm stuffed," Colin said, tossing his napkin on to his plate. "Touch me and I'll be exploding for right sure, I will."

"That really was great Josh," Lance said, taking JC's hand and kissing the back of it. "What a feast."

"Yeah Dad, it was amazing."

"I couldn't have done it without Colin's help doing the shopping yesterday, ahead of time, before we got here."

"It wasn't anything," Colin said, wagging his hand in the air. "I pushed around a fecking shopping cart at Whole Foods while a lad a full bit smarter than me led me round finding all the things on the list that A-Bomb gave me."

"Well, good job pushing the cart then Da," Aaron laughed. "I'll have to be recalling that the next time we go shopping together."

"You'll be recalling the back of me hand if you keep jawing like that."

"Oh, ain't that a precious threat," Aaron said, smiling at Colin, and rolling his eyes. "I've got near a foot and thirty pounds on you Da."

"My money's on Colin," Lance said, giving him a wink. "Fast-and-feisty beats big-and-strong most times."

Colin laughed, looking at Lance and then Aaron. He made his hand into a play-pistol and then cocked his thumb and pretended to aim.

"Bang!" Colin said, blowing imaginary pistol-smoke off the end of his finger. "So you better be watching yourself."

"What a nice Christmas tradition," JC said, reaching over and grabbing Lance's knee under the table. "Aimed weapons and threats of bodily harm. Why didn't we think of this before?"

"Oh-you know us," Lance said, shaking his head with mock solemnity. "We're just so traditional, and afraid to try new things. It's a shame really. Maybe next year we should try setting off some grenades or something."

"No - I know," JC said, laughing. "How about sacrificing a lamb or something?"

"Or kittens! We could drown kittens!"

"Stop!" Aaron said, looking at Lance and JC with obvious affection. "I don't know about you sometimes."

"Aces they are," Colin said, pushing his chair back from the table. "Now you on the other hand..."

"Da," Aaron said. "Give a man a rest. It's Christmas for chrissakes. There ain't a bloody horse been as ridden as hard as me, I swear. So fecking lay off."

"A bit snappish, are ya?"

"Nice language for Christmas," Lance said, frowning slightly. "Aaron?"

"Sorry Dad," Aaron said, wincing. "I'm just a little tired. I didn't think."

"Nah, it's on me," Colin said, smiling at Aaron and then at Lance. "I was all about provoking him - good-naturedly and all. We mess around on the set quite a bit, trying ta get each other's edge up. Tis either that or go mad with all the sitting around we do. But it's all in fun, ain't it A-bomb?"

"Tis true Da-and no bother at all, coming from you."

"It's fine," Lance said. "No worries."

"Did you make pie Dad?" Aaron asked, turning in his chair, smiling expectantly at JC. "Sweet potato pecan maybe?"

"Now what do you think?" JC said, laughing. "Of course I made pie. It wouldn't be Christmas without pie."

"He made me hold the damn thing on my lap the whole flight here," Lance said, moving his plate out of the way and putting his elbows on the table. "Not that it won't be worth it of course."

"My Dad's pies are the best," Aaron said to Colin. "My grandma taught him how to make them."

"The crust, she did," JC said, slowly nodding. "That seems so long ago now."

"Before I was born," Aaron said. "I think."

"She sends her love," Lance said. "By the way."

"Yeah I talked to her."

"Well-I best be going for me walk then," Colin said, standing up. "To make some room for this famous pie. Anyone want to join me?"

"I think we'll just stay here for a bit," Lance said. "And do some more catching up - you know, find out the last few details about Aaron's life that haven't been printed in a magazine yet."

"Are there any A-bomb?" Colin said, scratching his head in pretend-puzzlement, and then bursting out laughing. "Because I can't really think of any, can you?"

"Oh Da-you're a laugh-riot, oh so funny, ha-ha-ha!"

"Well, I'll be seeing you then," Colin said, his laughter subsiding, his hand in the air, waving as he left the room. "In an hour or so."

"So you and Colin are obviously getting along as famously as ever?"

"Yeah," Aaron said. "He's been great. He runs interference with Todd for me when Todd's freaking out or pushes too hard."

"Pushes too hard how?" Lance asked. "Like with your schedule?"

"Yeah, with that," Aaron said, nodding. "And with...I don't know, some of the stuff Todd pushes for in the film. He can be sort of out there sometimes. It's kind of hard to explain."

"Well, for example then."

"I don't know," Aaron shrugged. "He, uh-sometimes he wants stuff that I'm not super-comfortable with, and you know, Da has my back something fierce - like you know, and so he tells Todd no when he needs telling."

"Like with the nudity," JC said, his smile uneasy. "When he wanted nudity, and you weren't okay with that."

"Nudity!" Lance said, nearly knocking his glass of water over. "No one told me about any nudity. Aaron?"

"Dad-you read the script," Aaron said. "I mean, it's not like you could have missed it. So don't get mad at me."

"I don't remember reading anything about nudity," Lance said, shaking his head. "Josh-do you remember that, because I don't remember that."

"Honey, it was there," JC said, patting Lance's arm. "Not blatantly. But there were certainly love-scenes. You had to notice those."

"Yeah, but I assumed that....I don't know what I assumed. But..."

"You assumed it would be fine," JC said. "And I'm sure it probably is. Like Aaron said, Colin has his back."

"Well, thank god for Colin then," Lance said. "There's enough Photo-shopped crap out there of you Aaron without Todd giving them screen-caps of the real thing."

"Dad-why do you even look at that stuff - jaysus!"

"It's hard to miss sometimes."

"Yeah, well I don't ego-surf, so I avoid most of it."

"Ego-surf?"

"Never mind."

"Aaron, you're Dad's just worried because that stuff stays around forever," JC said. "You would not believe some of the stuff that people used to create of us. It was nasty. And I'm sure it's still out there."

"Some of it was funny though," Lance said, smiling at JC. "From like before we were actually out and being photographed together as a for-real couple. It was weird what some people imagined about us."

"And how scary-close some of it came to the reality of it."

"Remember that one of you and me in the shower?"

"Oh gawd," JC said, laughing. "And Joey was the one who found it."

"He did?" Aaron laughed. "How?"

"Oh, to amuse himself he used to do image-searches of his own name."

"That's ego-surfing."

"Oh," Lance said, smiling. "I get it."

"He must have gotten bored," JC said. "Because he decided to do a search on me and Lance, you know, together, and..."

"He found this picture of Josh and me in the shower together."

"Doing what?" Aaron asked.

"Uh-let's just say we were being intimate."

"Yeah," JC said, laughing. "Really intimate."

"But the thing was," Lance said. "It was not, uh-let's just say, it was not an act that we hadn't done before."

"So we were like, you don't think?"

"Josh was totally freaking out. He was convinced that someone had installed a camera in the bathroom of one of the hotels we were staying at on tour."

"I was not."

"Yes you were."

"But it wasn't real," JC said. "Not really real."

"No, you could totally tell it was a fake."

"How?"

Lance started laughing as Josh pointed at him and said, "Don't you dare!"

"Uh, you could just tell," Lance said, laughing. "We could."

"Yeah, I imagine so," Aaron said. "I mean, you had to know what Dad's parts looked like, right?"

"Okay," JC said, quickly standing up. "Who wants to help with the dishes?"

Lance and Aaron looked at each other and burst out laughing while JC's face turned several shades of deepening red. When the laughter started to subside, Lance stood up and hugged JC and gave him a kiss. "I love you so much," he said.

"I love you too," JC said, smiling, his face no longer red. "You schmuck."

"Hey," Aaron said, standing up. "Why don't I do the dishes so you two love-birds can be alone?"

"Nah," Lance said. "We've been plenty alone. Let's do the dishes together."

"That sounds great," Aaron said. "Just like old times."

"Will Ryan die?" Aaron asked. "I mean, will he die soon?"

JC sloshed wine on the green gingham tablecloth.

"Dang it," JC said, dabbing at the wine stain with his napkin. "Red wine never comes out."

"Sorry Dad."

"No it's fine," JC said, setting the bottle back down on the table. It landed solidly and made a dull thud that no one noticed. Aaron stared intently at JC's face looking for a clue as to what he was thinking, what his sudden far-away look meant. He waited for JC to say something more, but for several long seconds he said nothing at all as the kitchen-clock noisily counted each silent second off. He regretted now his question, bringing the topic of Ryan up so suddenly. But when he thought of James, he thought of Ryan too. They were somehow inextricably intertwined in his mind, as once he and James and been to him. All day he had been thinking of James. For some reason, he couldn't help it. And so he had been thinking of Ryan too.

"I don't really know," JC finally said, breaking through the cluttered noise of the clock-ticking, Lance's solemn breathing, the wind outside, and Aaron's thought-filled expectancy. "We all die eventually-as clichéd as that probably sounds. And so Ryan will die too. I suppose it just depends on when it's his time to go."

"He was in the coma for quite a while," Lance said, taking JC's hand and holding it in his lap. "And the doctors didn't really expect him to recover from that."

"I knew he would though," JC said. "You have to have faith about these things."

Aaron closed his eyes for a moment and felt his face redden. He felt embarrassed by what his dad had said, as if the words had accused him of something, some failing he was aware of but could not define. He was not sure why.

"I admire that about you Dad," Aaron said, managing a smile. "I can't imagine having faith like that. But I'm glad you do."

"You find it," JC said, his voice drifting off with his gaze, which wandered to the window, looking out. The house was filled now with the sound of wind gusting up from the beach. The stronger gusts rattled the house and made the chandelier sway. It cast flecks of light like glitter in random directions around the room, like the calm pool of light above them had broken, and what was left were shards, like a broken mirror.

Aaron watched his dad look at JC, with his calm way of waiting. He could tell that his dad knew that JC's attention would come back to him, like a kite reeled back to earth. But the two of them were connected by something more than flimsy cotton-string. No, what held them to each other was strong and tightly wound. He thought-this is what love is: two persons wedded by something essential, something immutable, not simply in conjunction, not merely side-by-side. These two people before him existed together, belonged together, and to each other. They came into being together. They were not the same beings apart. Watching them now he realized that there were so many words for being together - wedded, joined, united, partnered - yet only one word to describe alone, which was suddenly how he felt sitting there. For once he felt excluded. And it frightened him into the need to speak, to say something, to get their attention again. Look at me, he thought. Don't forget that I'm still here too. We're still a family, aren't we? Three people can be together as well as two, can't they?

"Did James find the faith you were talking about Dad?"

The words sputtered out of Aaron's mouth, surprising him.

"I bet he did."

"I think so," JC said, his eyes drifting back from the window, looking first at Lance, and then at Aaron, who he offered a wan smile. "In his own way he did."

"James sends his best, you know," Lance offered. "He said to tell you Merry Christmas, and to thank you again for letting him help hang your ornaments."

"I know," Aaron said, giving Lance a grateful look. "You told me before."

"Right," Lance said, blushing. "I did."

"James is a good boy," JC said, his eyes at the window again, staring out into the bluster. It was as if he was convinced that just beyond the glass lay the answer to a question that had nagged at him his whole life. Aaron wondered what it was.

"He's a strong boy," JC continued. "But I still worry about him."

"Why?" Aaron asked, not sure that he wanted to know.

"Because I always worry about the people I care for, people I love. I worry about you too Aaron, of course even more."

"You don't have to worry Dad," Aaron quickly said. "I'm doing fine."

JC nodded, still staring out the window. Aaron knew he was unconvinced, and that his attempt at reassurance had caused his Dad to worry more.

"Well, I just hope I never have to find the kind of faith James has," Aaron said. "That just seems impossible to me. I can't even imagine it."

"I don't think you really mean that," Lance said, exchanging a quick concerned glance with JC. "Do you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"We all need faith," JC said. "An anchor, something to believe in, to be serious about-otherwise you end up just drifting."

"Your dad is right Aaron."

"Yeah-but it's just. I don't know."

Aaron stopped and scratched the back of his neck, thinking. He avoided looking at JC, who had turned his attention from the window to look at him, waiting. He could think of nothing to say, nothing that he thought would satisfy his dad's desire for an explanation, a glimpse into what his life was like for him now, what he was doing, what his plans were, what mattered to him, what he was willing to stand up for, to defend.

"Dad, it's just," Aaron said. "I don't know-to tell you the truth, sometimes I feel like I've lost the ability to be serious."

"To be what?"

"To be serious."

"Serious how?"

"I don't know," Aaron said, shrugging and slowly shaking his head. "Just...I don't know, it's like my friend Barry, he reads all the time. And he's always thinking about stuff, serious stuff, like the purpose of stuff, the meaning of stuff. But I'm not like that. Or if I tried to be, I think I'd just be faking it."

"And so you just float along," Lance said, furrows worrying his forehead. "You wander and don't worry, assuming everything will be all right. But what if it isn't?"

"Yeah, Dad, I know," Aaron said. "I know."

"What do you know?" Lance said, plainly perturbed. "Tell me."

"I know that there's a big freaking serious-ass world out there," Aaron said, glaring at Lance. "With a lot of big freaking serious-ass stuff going on it, with people like Ryan dying, and people like James trying to save him, and people like Barry trying to figure out what it all means. And me? Me-I'm an actor, just like you were once, or maybe still are, if the right part comes along. But me, who I am, right now? Well, I'll tell you, I'm just an actor getting paid big-bucks to act like someone I'm not. Except in this case it seems like I'm acting a whole lot like someone who I am - a stupid, mixed-up kid who doesn't know what he wants out of life except to just go with the flow for a while, like you said, and have some freaking fun. And I don't think that's..."

"You're not stupid," JC said, interrupting. "That's ridiculous."

"Maybe no," Aaron said, his voice thick with frustration. "But that's how I feel."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Lance said. "Because selling yourself short is the best way to make sure you really do fall short."

"Jaysus, Dad," Aaron said, standing up, feeling defensive not angry. "Please don't start in. Because that's such a cliché dad thing to say. Plus, it's the day after frigging Christmas and I'm not in the mood for a lecture, or another one."

"So what are you in the frigging mood for," Lance said, on his feet now too, his anger as plain as Aaron's was not. "A congratulatory pat on the back for having decided to embrace a life of who-the-fuck-cares-what-tomorrow-will-bring so let's party? Or is maybe the way you're being depicted in all those magazines a little closer to the truth than you've been letting on, is that it? Or is that an act too?"

"Yeah, well maybe the acorn doesn't fall too far from the tree then."

"Aaron," JC said, angry and pointing at him. "That is enough."

"Don't worry," Aaron said. "I wasn't talking about either of you. I was talking about Joey, my biological progenitor. I've got his genes you know."

JC watched open-mouthed as Aaron stalked from the room, and Lance sank back down into his chair, saying nothing. The room was silent, except for the sound of the wind outside, ticking wall-clock, and the echo of Aaron's footsteps thumping upstairs. JC stepped to Lance's side and put his hand on his arm. He was not sure how the conversation had turned so suddenly, but he accepted calmly that it had, because he understood why. Lance looked up at him and shrugged.

"It had to happen eventually," JC said, his hand rubbing the back of Lance's neck. "He's decided he's cursed."

"Okay - so tell me it's not as bad as I'm thinking it is," Lance said, eyeing Colin across the kitchen table, a bottle scotch between them.

"Not even," Colin said, laughing. "It's worse."

"Oh fuck," Lance said, holding out his glass. "Pour me more scotch then."

"I'm tipping that scotch sales would be fecking slashed but for having kids, don't you think?"

"I do think," Lance said, laughing as he watched Colin pour. "Praise be to scotch then! Praise be!"

"Anyway," Colin said, putting down the bottle after pouring himself a little more first. "I don't think you should be worrying too much more, to tell you true."

"It'd be hard to worry too much more."

"I know," Colin said, nodding. "But it's like this - Aaron is still the same good lad he's always been. As good as they get, really. So even if he's off on a bit of a wobble at the moment, he'll get it back in line soon enough."

"I have to trust you on this," Lance said, his expression suddenly serious and still. "I just wish sometimes I was around more, to see for myself, to be here. But I can't be. And it's probably good that I'm not since, one, it would drive me crazy. And two, it would drive him crazy."

"See - there you go," Colin said, pointing at him. "Being smart and right again."

"Well, I try," Lance said, smiling. "It's just-"

"I know," Colin said. "You don't want to see him hurt. But, hey, hurt he will be, now and again. You need some hurt in your life to make you strong."

"True but...."

"No, just true," Colin said. "Besides - it's good that he throws off a bit of steam. I'm tipping that when this fecking film is done, he'll be a sure measure more wanting to settle it down a bit."

"I know you're right, but still."

"And this fecking flick is way too arty to ever be a hit," Colin said, after taking a sip of scotch. "So his and my career both will be a hell of a lot cooler, I'd be saying, after this one comes out and stinks up the theaters."

"Not that I'd ever wish you bad luck," Lance said, with a quick wink. "But it'd be nice to have the fame thing fade away. I should have never agreed to let him do the Star Wars film. I really kick myself for that."

"Now don't be going there," Colin said, pointing at Lance, his eyes narrowed, as if to signal seriousness, and a kind of warning. His voice was warm though. And Lance understood that Colin was cajoling more than pretending to instruct. He was a good friend that way. And so when Colin continued, saying-"What's done is surely done," Lance knew that what his friend had said was kind and true.

"So tell me about his friends," Lance said, setting his glass down, the ice tinkling and catching what light that fell dimly from the chandelier. "What do you think?"

"Hmm?" Colin said, squinting one eye and looking up at the ceiling for several seconds. "It's a funny bunch, that be for fecking sure."

"How so?"

"Well, you've got Cameron Blaine," Colin said. "Who I'm sure you've read plenty about."

"Oh yeah," Lance said, shaking his head. "We're supposed to have dinner with her and Aaron when we get back to Portland. I'm not sure what to expect."

"Tits, mostly."

Lance laughed and nearly spit scotch through just closed lips. He wiped the back of his hand slowly across his mouth as he set his glass down and finally managed to swallow and clear his throat and laugh again, this time loudly. Colin looked at him knowingly, both eyebrows comically arched, like sideways question-marks. He joined Lance laughing and they smiled at each other. Both realized and relished how easy their friendship had become, and their talks about Aaron a kind of ritual that cemented their feelings of kinship and joint-purpose.

"But yeah," Colin said as their laughter ebbed. "She's a piece of work. Takes me back, really. I must have dated - or should I say, involved me self with - several dozen of her before finally settling down in the family way."

"Hopefully it won't take Aaron that long."

"Or end as badly as it did."

"Stop-"

"Nah," Colin said, swiping the air with his hand. "It's all good and fine. Plus Aaron's a full bit smarter than me or that. He likes her fine. But he's not impressed - if you know what I mean."

"I do," Lance said. "Back in the day you could always tell when Justin had hooked up with the new flavor-of-the-month model or starlet or whatever."

"Like being able to afford a brand-new faster sports car several times a year."

Yup," Lance said. "A shiny BMW except more expensive."

"Sometimes," Colin said, laughing. "But what a ride!"

"Oh gawd," Lance said, covering his eyes and shaking his head. "Don't even go there. Please. I know he's having sex, but don't make me picture it."

"Yeah - that's a right bit creepy."

"So you don't mind her much then - Cameron?"

"Nah, she's okay," Colin said. "She ain't a full-fecking eejit. But she does make this annoying little-girl girly-girl giggle every fecking time Aaron says anything near amusing or interesting. She never turns it off, that one don't. She's always on stage, always acting the good girlfriend."

"So not a lot genuine there?"

"Ah-who fecking knows really," Colin said. "We all put on an act now and again, throwing shades. It's what people do, especially when they be scared, or feeling mad or guilty like. Or lonely. But with Cameron, A-bomb seems to like her. And he's not the one throwing shades. So I have to figure there's something there-"

"More than tits."

"I fecking hope so," Colin said, nodding at Lance. "Tits get you only so far."

"I wouldn't really know," Lance said smiling. "Except in theory."

"Yeah-I don't suppose you would," Colin said. "You ever have sex with a woman? I never asked you that before."

"Nope."

"So you was a bloody fucking virgin when you was first with Josh."

"Well, I might not put it in exactly those terms, but yeah."

"Amazing, that is."

"I'll tell you," Lance said, speaking softly and slowly, with conviction. "It was."

"Joshua is quite a man," Colin said, after a long pause. "Like none I've met. Soft and strong in equal measures. And uncanny really - more man than me, but seeming gentle, with his flower-planting and cooking. It'd be easy to misjudge him if you didn't know him. And easy to think he weren't as strong as he is."

"I'll drink to that," Lance said, holding up his glass. Colin then picked up his glass too and they noisily clinked a toast to what had been said. "And to you, for being Aaron's Da as much as his friend. I never worry when he's with you - not really."

"He's a special lad, that one is. And I'm right more than proud to have him in my life so. Thank you."

"No. Thank you."

"Well before we become a bleeding mutual thanking society, how about some more scotch?"

"I'll drink to that too."

"Now you're talking," Colin said, sloshing another inch of liquor into Lance's glass, and then his own. When he was through pouring he set the bottle to one side, next to a stack of paper napkins and a pepper grinder. Colin sighed and slipped down in his chair, his hands flat on the table in front of him, his thumbs rubbing the tablecloth. Lance looked out the window at the setting sun; it was the color of a blood-orange with clouds obscuring most of it. He could feel the sting of the scotch lingering in the back of his throat and the softly surging warmth of subtle inebriation. He thought of JC and felt a second surge, his penis swelling. Since getting back from France they had been intense together, ravenous almost. He smiled remembering their morning play, absentmindedly adjusting the front of his pants and clearing his throat.

"Hey there," Colin said, tapping the tabletop. "You drifting off on me?"

"Sorry," Lance said, turning back to Colin, offering him his smile. "I was just thinking of Josh. We've been really going at it since I got back from France."

"No need to be telling me that," Colin said, laughing slyly. "The fecking house was shaking half of last night."

"Shut up," Lance said, blushing. "No it wasn't."

"Yeah well, have your times. It's all good."

"Yeah, it is," Lance said, a feverish grin animating his face. It made Colin smile and laugh to see it. Both took a sip of scotch, then Colin spoke again.

"So this Cameron chick - don't go pre-judging her on my account. You should decide for yourself, have an open mind. For Aaron you should."

"Yeah," Lance said, nodding. "I'm sure she'll be fine, tits and all."

"Aaron's buddy Jake is a bit of okay," Colin said. "And there's a lad Brent from school, as polite as a priest with a new parish."

"Aaron mentioned him," Lance said. "They're study-mates."

"Were last semester so," Colin said. "A-Bomb helped him out a bloody lot, with some math class I don't even fecking know the name of, or couldn't say if I did."

"Vector differential calculus."

"That's it."

"Aaron's always been good at math."

"Never was a numbers man me self."

"You're like Josh then."

"In that I guess," Colin said shrugging. "Not much else I'd say."

"You'd be surprised."

"Probably."

"Who else have you met?"

"A few others here and there," Colin said, shrugging. "They come and go really, especially the girls. He's a friendly guy, Aaron is. Lots of acquaintances, I'd say. But not really anyone he seems truly tight with."

"Not like him and James were."

"Exactly," Colin said. "Not like that at all."

"Have you ever talked to him about that, what happened?"

"A bit here and there," Colin said, nodding. "I let it come up on its own mostly. Best not to pry with Aaron, especially on that there subject. It's obviously not something he takes much of a shine to chatting about. How about you?"

"We spoke once about it," Lance said, leaning back in his chair, and scratching the side of this neck. "That day we finished building the barbecue. You remember?"

"Sure I do."

'He didn't say much - other than he'd made a mistake that had badly hurt James, or so he seemed to think."

"Too bad, that is."

"Yeah it is," Lance said. "Truly is."

"Mistakes always seem so much bigger when looked back on. Tis hard to find the future again. But that's what you must do."

"That's exactly right," Lance said, nodding as he stared again out the window as the sun disappeared behind the clouds and the sky darkened a little more. "Exactly."

"Well, he'll have a best-mate again," Colin said, his voice lightened by a tone of artificial cheer. "And someone who loves him for his real and true self. A heart like he has will find the one for him, like you did."

"That's my wish for him," Lance said, his voice solemn but not sad. "Truly."

He could hear the ocean and its storm-tossed rumbling which reminded him somehow of worried thoughts. He imagined the water at the edge of the shore frothing, angry-looking, like a rabid foaming mouth, with the jagged rocks there its teeth. Shivering, he pulled the blankets up to his neck and held them there, staring up at the dull blank ceiling. This was such a lonely room, with meager light even during the day. The mangy-leaved trees beside the house blocked out the dim winter sun, except for a vague lattice-work of light that persisted long enough to filter through. There was dusty smell that lingered too, as if hovering above him, like a cloud leaked in from outside, or musty air from the attic. Yes, it smelled like an attic, and all the forgotten things stored up there, with dust motes and dried newspapers littering the dirty wood floor.

Tired and drifting off, it was easy to hear, imagine-hear, above him, ghost voices whispering through the crevices of cracked cardboard boxes, once meant to contain contents quick forgotten, and secrets, which through cracks spilt like seed-grain in corners unnoticed, where rats lurked, yes rats, rubbing their tiny paws, cackling and listening, to what the wind said...

-Did I ever tell you the story of the one Christmas I was alone? I thought I had I had told you, although I may have forgotten. So many stories you know. It was a sad for me. I was on my way, I thought. But to where I wasn't sure. Yes-Christmas Eve, actually. I have told you this, haven't I?

Yes, it doesn't seem so long ago, not so much, not in the telling. Stories can fool you though, remembering them, and telling them too. So much to get wrong, so little that you ever get right. It's not like you can take someone and put them back there, in your own old skin, force them to feel the things you felt right then. I'm not even sure I can put myself there anymore-if ever. You tell yourself stories, we all do, trying to make sense of things, keep things together, not falling apart, wrapping bits of a life up in sentences like string wrapped around and around, to hold things together.

-I thought we'd always be together. Did I ever tell you that? And so when we weren't, it was an awful shock. Like a tree suddenly cut down, a tree you've walked past a thousand times and hardly noticed. And then there's a stump staring back at you and you wonder, who would have done such a thing, cut down a tree like that? But, yes-I'm sure you can relate, more than even me probably. A forest full of stumps, like how those Christmas tree farms look in January. Now there's a sad sight to ponder.

-It wasn't much of an ornament really. Two plastic drinking straws that he had braided together. I can still remember the smell of the burning plastic as he held it over the candle-flame and melted the end. It's so it doesn't come unraveled he said, handing it to me. Go ahead and hang it on the tree.

It will be my first one, one I made for you. Ad it was an ugly thing really, this little - I don't know, like an icicle or maybe a candy-cane. The straw was white with red-stripes in it, so I think he meant it as a candy-cane. But you could never really tell with him sometimes. He was funny and sly that way, leaving you to guess at such things, the mysteries.

-No, I never much liked gin after that. The taste of juniper that was like a bad memory that wouldn't go away. Even now if I get a whiff of it, curls my stomach and makes me want to do nothing so much as vomit. Someone should have told me the two-martini rule. Fewer mistakes I would have made, fewer dumb things said. And I might have saved myself much fury and unhappiness. But that's just me, and maybe wishful thinking besides. Don't you think?

-Oh sure I do. Of course. Although it means something different for me now. Life is like that it seems, always moving on without you so that you have to hurry and catch up, like a bus that got to the corner before you, the last one that night. Stranded otherwise you might be. So you run. Of course you do. And then when you catch up to it, like you must, it's different somehow-life, I mean, and how you see it. It's why photographs of people always bothered me in a way. You look at them looking back at you and you can't help but wonder, did I ever really know him? Was that me behind that camera? What was I trying to capture anyway, because you know, I can't see it now.

-Keep it simple, that's what I always said. Just keep it simple. Simple words, simple melody-just let it happen, you know? Like this one for example:

I say I'll move the mountains And I'll move the mountains If he wants them out of the way Crazy he calls me Sure, I'm crazy Crazy in love, I say

See how simple that is? Can't get much more simple than that, now can you? No way. No way. No way.

"It says here on the sign that:

THERE are several versions of the legend, but the one told to us by the Wishram people is as follows: A woman had a house where the village of Nixluidix was later built. She was chief of all who lived in the region. That was a long time before Coyote came up the river and changed things and people were not yet real people. After a time Coyote, in his travels, came to this place and asked the inhabitants if they were living well or ill. They sent him to their chief who lived up on the rocks where she could look down on the village and know what was going on. Coyote climbed up to the house and asked, "What kind of living do you give these people? Do you treat them well or are you one of those evil women?" "I am teaching them to live well and build good houses," she said. When she expressed her desire to be able to do this forever, he said, "Soon the world will change and women will no longer be chiefs." And, being the trickster that he was, he changed her into a rock with the command: "You shall stay here and watch over the people and the river forever." People know that Tsagaglalal sees all things for whenever they are looking at her, those large eyes are watching them.

"That's kind of cool," Aaron said, leaning forward on the wooden fence that kept them from touching the ancient stone face of the cliff there. "Don't you think?"

"I love petroglyphs," JC said. "Remember the ones in New Zealand?"

"Those were awesome," Aaron said, turning around and looking at JC, his hair wet from the drizzling rain that had continued to fall during their hike to this place. "The koru especially."

"Your tattoo."

"Yeah."

"Did you ever show your dad?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, tilting his head and shrugging. "He was okay with it."

"I like how...how do you say it again?"

"Tzah-gah-glah-lah."

"I like how amazed she looks," JC said, taking Aaron's hand and standing next to him. "You can't tell if it's awe or fear or anger, at what's she sees her people doing."

"It could be all three," Aaron said. "Or even more."

"I think that's right," JC said, wiping rain from his face. "Exactly right."

"You know," Aaron said, turning to JC and draping an arm on his shoulder, like he was about to pull him forward and hug him. But he just looked at him instead, his eyes widening, and brightening, beneath the wet hair stuck flat to his forehead. He smiled almost bashfully at JC and said, "When I was little, I used to think that you and dad could see me, even when you weren't around. I would think about that at bedtime when you were reading to me and I was about to fall asleep, but trying not to, trying to make it to the end of what we were reading. I'd think that even though you were going to go back to your bedroom to sleep with dad, you'd still be able to see me, where ever you went. I always thought that. I don't know why. I just know it made me feel good and safe and loved, like nothing bad could ever happen to me, because you were watching."

"I don't suppose you still think that way," JC said, laughing softly. "That me and your dad can see you when we're not around."

"I do sometimes," Aaron said, putting his arm the rest of the way around JC as the two of them turned and started to make their way back down the trail.

"Which is weird, I know. And only like a metaphor, or a way of describing a feeling really. But it helps sometimes to think that way, like when I'm trying to decide what to do or how to act. Does that make sense?"

"Sure," JC said. "They always say you should never do anything you don't want someone to see you doing."

"Yeah, I've heard that a few times."

"But is that what you meant?"

"Sort of," Aaron said, looking at JC again, finding his eyes already on him. "I just...anyway, it's stupid. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Hey - what's going on?" JC said, stopping and turning, his feet close together in the middle of the path, Aaron a foot ahead, having stopped not quite as quickly as JC. "Is there something you want to tell me? It sounds like there is."

"Nah," Aaron said, taking JC's hand and beginning to walk again, tugging JC into motion beside him. "I was just thinking out loud is all. Don't worry."

"All right," JC said, his voice tentative and quieter. "Are you sure?"

"I am," Aaron said, squeezing JC's hand. "Don't worry."

"Colin said that even with the reschedule last month, the shoot's still taking twice as long to finish as planned," JC said. "What's up with that? Is it Todd?"

"Sort of," Aaron said, watching the mist in the trees up ahead where the path turned and descended more sharply. It was another half mile to where they'd parked the car. His breath puffed visibly before his face, brushing back against him as he walked.

"Todd's a perfectionist, and this movie is his dream-project - or so he keeps saying like fifty times a day. Anyway, he's wanted to make it for forever, which makes him insecure, I think. So we do lots and lots of takes, which of course drives Da mad, and gets on my nerves too. But it is what it is until it isn't."

"Are you missing many classes?"

"Not too many - just a few here and there. I got A's and a B last semester."

"Your dad told me," JC said. "Congratulations, again."

"Yeah, I got your card," Aaron said, smiling. "Thanks for that."

"So what's this you're up to that you don't want me seeing," JC said, pulling Aaron to a stop as the two of them reached a second bend in the trail. There was a log-bench a few feet away. JC led Aaron to it and sat down. They sat silently for several minutes and stared across the trail through mist-shrouded ferns to a stand of cedar trees that loomed vaguely a hundred yards or so away, like they were ghost-trees, and not real trees at all. Aaron imagined trees evaporating, disappearing into the forest to appear at some other spot. And he imagined Tsagaglalal watching the trees and him.

"I'm tipping you know," Aaron finally said. "You always do."

"Know what?"

"That I've become a first-class slut."

"That's sort of harsh, don't you think?"

"Not particularly," Aaron said, his voice flat, shrugging. "I've been with sixteen people since getting here. I counted last night. Sixteen in three months, I'd call that pretty much being a slut, wouldn't you?"

"So you and Cameron-"

"That's a steady-thing I guess," Aaron said, shrugging again, but hardly noticing the gesture. "We hook-up pretty regularly. But it's not like we're serious or anything. At least I'm not. There are still others."

"It's just for fun then?"

"Hey-it's good exercise too," Aaron said, forcing a laugh that faltered and fell flat. It was a bad joke and he knew it. But still he completed it. "You don't want me to get fat and out-of-shape do you?"

"Funny," JC said. "Or not very.

"Yeah, not very," Aaron said. "I know."

"I'm not judging you Aaron. I'm just concerned, that's all."

"I know Dad," Aaron said, taking JC's hand. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know. I can't explain it."

"So this sixteen, all girls?"

"There's been one guy actually?"

"Anyone I know?"

"Jake."

"Ahhh..."

"You won't like him," Aaron said, looking up the trail and then back into the trees, at the play of shadows there as the sun, already low in the winter sky, began its descent. The sun, and the clouds around it, were stained the color of a blood orange.

"I don't know him yet sweetie," JC said, squeezing Aaron's hand. "Do you?"

"Know him?"

"Yes, know him."

"Of course, I know him, Aaron said. "He's my friend."

"All right," JC said. "You know him. That's great. How about all the others."

"Look dad - I don't know," Aaron said, his voice revealing the frustration he felt. "It's just...please don't get mad. It's just not that big of deal to me, sex isn't. I know you think differently than I do. But to me, having sex with someone is no big mystery; it's not something that feels sacred or symbolic to me. I know you think it should stand for something, but I guess I just don't know what it supposed to stand for. Maybe I'll find someone someday to make love with. I hope I do. And I hope I'll know the difference when I do. But - excuse my language - what I'm up to is just, you know, fucking."

"That's obvious Aaron," JC said, his voice almost clinical in its cool exactitude. It reminded Aaron of how a doctor might speak to a patient while giving a diagnosis. He felt his stomach clench in fear for what JC was about to say.

"Very obvious."

"Okay, it's obvious. I get it."

"It's also kind of too bad," JC said, standing up, facing Aaron now. "Not to be harsh, but it is. I wanted more for you than that - now and always."

"Not everyone can have what you and Dad have," Aaron said, looking up at JC, hurt by the sadness he saw in his eyes. "That's something I've just come to accept."

"Aaron, you're only eighteen. You have a lifetime ahead of you."

"Dad was only eighteen when he met you. He found love and knew it. You've told me that story a hundred times, a hundred different ways. And it's not like I don't see how much he still loves you. And you love him. Which is great. But did you ever think that maybe what you have is the exception, and not the rule? "

"Let's not go round and round about this," JC said, beginning to turn away, but then stopping and looking at Aaron again, his eyes calmer now. "Okay?"

"Fine," Aaron said, standing up. "Fine."

"I love you very much Aaron," JC said, cupping the side of Aaron's face with his hand and looking at him intently. "And I'm proud of you."

"But..."

"Just be careful," JC said. "What looks simple at first rarely stays that way very long, and that includes fucking. Will you remember that for me?"

"I will dad," Aaron said, standing up and hugging JC. "Just don't be mad at me."

"It's a book my friend Barry gave me for Christmas," Aaron said, holding it up so that Lance could see it.

"John Keats," Lance said, reading the book-cover, and then turning to look at JC, who was sitting on the living room floor putting together a jigsaw puzzle. "You like him, don't you Josh?"

JC smiled up at Lance and recited: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,-that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

"I know that one," Aaron said, grinning enthusiastically. "Ode to a Grecian Urn. It's one of Barry's favorite poems."

"Keats died young," JC said, picking up a puzzle-piece and eyeing its jagged shape. "At twenty-five, I think - of tuberculosis."

"He managed to write a lot of poems though," Aaron said. "Before he died."

"What'd you give Barry for Christmas?" Lance asked, moving Aaron's legs off the couch and sitting next to him. "Or did you get him anything."

"No-I got him something," Aaron said, frowning. "Of course I did. Barry's my good buddy. I got him a two-hundred dollar gift certificate to Powell's Books."

"Did he like it?" JC asked, looking up with a smile. He had just slipped a puzzle-piece correctly into place, completing the puzzle's border. The inside remained to be filled in. To Aaron it looked like an empty picture-frame. "The gift certificate?"

"He loved it," Aaron said. "We spent the morning there last Sunday. He was like a little kid in a candy store. He was practically skipping down the aisles."

"You said before he loves books."

"Totally," Aaron said. "He's mad for them. You should see his house. I call it the great library of Barry-andria."

"So do we get to meet Barry?" Lance asked.

"If you want," Aaron said, shrugging. "We could have dinner at Hamburger Mary's tomorrow when we get back to Portland. He works there."

"Well, it'd be nice to meet him when he wasn't at work," JC said. "So he can be relaxed, and not be worrying about taking care of customers."

"He works a lot," Aaron said. "But I'll call him and see what days off he has."

"Great," Lance said. "He sounds like a nice guy."

"When are we on with Cameron," JC asked, not looking up this time, concentrating on a puzzle-piece he was trying to find a place for. Aaron smiled watching him. He had not known that his dad liked jigsaw puzzles, and he wondered if perhaps this was something new, something he did back at home with James. It was easy to imagine the two of them hunched over the dining room table, silently wiling hours of waiting away, putting together a puzzle-picture to see what it would reveal - a Russian winter with a steam-train churning through it, an expanse of autumn trees seeming almost ablaze with color, sailing ships buffeted by frothing waves, or a vast country garden with its maze of blooms. He imagined when they were done that they'd take the picture apart again, and put it away, a box full of scattered cardboard bits, no longer a picture at all.

"The night after next, right?" JC asked, looking up at Aaron, who stared sadly at him. JC noticed the sadness right away, but did not comment on it. "With Cameron?"

"Right," Aaron said, blinking. "The night after next."

"Where are we going? Some place nice?"

"Yeah, probably," Aaron said. "She likes fancy more than me. But she'll pout if we go some place regular - like Hamburger Mary's is regular?"

"Like the Red Fox Inn?"

"Exactly," Aaron said. "Not her kind of place at all."

"So let her pick then," Lance said, glancing at JC and seeing him roll his eyes. "That'll make her happy. And your Dad and I don't care where we go."

"Nah-if I let her pick there will be a pack of paparazzi waiting for us outside after. It never fails."

"You think she tips them off?"

"Her or her PR flack," Aaron said. "Not that it matters which."

"Good publicity for her."

"Yeah. I guess."

JC put down a puzzle-piece that he had been looking at and let out a long, noisy breath. Aaron could tell he was irritated, and he knew why.

"Dad-she's not using me," Aaron said, pursing his lips and shaking his head. "It's just the way she is. She likes attention."

"And I like strawberry ice cream," JC said. "Which doesn't mean I make Lance run to the store every day to get me some."

"You don't like strawberry ice cream," Lance said, looking puzzled but laughing too. "You don't even really like ice cream."

"Everyone likes ice cream," Aaron said, happy that the subject had changed.

"I was just making an example," JC said. "And one that I really don't think is too hard to understand. Do you?"

"No," Aaron said, shaking his head. "It's not. I get it."

"Good."

"It's just that - I don't know." Aaron closed his eyes and sighed. He was not sure whether to go on with this. He knew that, at least as far as JC was concerned, he was defending the indefensible. Still, he had something to say and he decided to say it.

"It's not like I'm not taking advantage too. She's hot Dad. What can I say?"

"Well that's simple then," JC said, scoffing as he returned his attention to his puzzle. "Sorry I worried."

"Now you two," Lance said, patting Aaron's knee and giving him a reassuring glance. "I don't think falling into a bickering match is going to help anyone figure out anything. So let's just say that we're worried about you Aaron, and we don't want to see you hurt. When we meet Cameron-"

"When you meet Cameron," JC said without looking up. "I think I've met enough of her, thank you very much."

"Dad-where in the hell did this come from? You weren't like this yesterday on our hike. You were down with what I was doing then."

"No. I was being non-judgmental yesterday. And trying to be supportive. But it's amazing what a sleepless night of worry will do to a person."

"This is stupid," Aaron said, crossing his arms on his chest. "There's nothing to worry about. I keep telling you that."

"Aaron-it's not stupid," Lance said, anger creeping into his voice now too. "And there's plenty to worry about. Telling us not to worry is like telling us to stop loving you. And that's not going to happen. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Aaron said, uncrossing his arms and looking at JC. "I'm sorry Dad. I know you're just looking out for what's best for me. I guess maybe I'm not feeling so sure about what I'm doing anyway. And feeling defensive. And over-sensitive. So I didn't mean to get mad. I'm sorry."

"All right," JC said softly, getting up from the floor. He walked over to where Aaron was sitting and sat down beside him. Aaron tilted his head so it rested on JC's shoulder. His head felt good and secure there. JC ran his hand gently through Aaron's hair, moving his crooked bangs off his forehead. "I'm sorry too. For maybe judging Cameron too harshly. I promise to give her a chance."

"She's a nice girl dad. And funny. You'll like her."

"I'm sure I will," JC said, his voice soothing now, like he would talk to Aaron putting him to bed as a little boy. "Something about her I will."

Peace in the family," Lance gently laughed. "Hallelujah."

"Did you like my mother?"

Lance turned to look at Aaron, surprised. His mouth settled into the shape of a wry worried smile while Aaron waited for a reply. They were sitting next to each other in the back of the last car of the MAX light-rail train, returning from a trip to the zoo. Half the day had been wiled away wandering there. Now it was late afternoon and the gray-clouded sky had started to darken.

"Now where did that come from?" Lance said, placing his hand on Aaron's thigh and giving it two quick squeezes. "You've never asked that one before."

"I've been thinking about it for some reason," Aaron said. "Probably because of the movie and all. Art, my character, is all fu...I mean, messed up over his mom dying when he was like thirteen. It's a big issue between him and his dad."

"I see," Lance said, his head slowly, nearly imperceptibly nodding.

"I guess it got me thinking."

"Well," Lance said. "I think I've told you most everything about her - how Joey met her, settled down and married her, all that."

"Yeah, I know," Aaron said. "But I was thinking that you never really told me what you thought of her. You know, whether you liked her or not. Did you?"

Lance paused, thinking. The sound of the conductor's voice calling out a stop echoed back into the car. Aaron glanced outside to check their progress, to see where they were. A light rain had begun to fall, blurring the windows. An older woman in a red wool overcoat boarded the car and lumbered jerkily up the aisle as the train started to move again. She settled three rows in front of them, her purse on her lap. As the train's momentum leveled, and its movement smoothed, Lance looked at Aaron again, who was still waiting to hear what he would say. Lance took a deep breath and offered Aaron a wan smile. He looked like he had a stomachache but was trying bravely not to complain. Taking another breath, Lance finally spoke.

"I could hardly stand her," he said. "She was a bitch."

"She was what?" Aaron said, suddenly laughing. "A bitch? Dad!"

"Oh god," Lance said, laughing now too. "I know, it's awful for me to say.

And I always swore I'd never speak ill of her to you..."

"And you never have."

"But she was just a total raving bitch," Lance said. "Seriously-if you looked at her wrong, she'd tear your head off. And she had the patience of someone with three minutes left to live. Oh, and you could not leave her and Josh together in a room alone."

"Dad didn't like her either?"

"Oh my god," Lance said, shaking his head. "It was unreal - hate at first sight."

"What was her deal? How could she not like dad?"

"Who knows?" Lance said. "I thought she was crazy. Josh thought she was just plain evil. And probably she was both. The smallest, stupidest thing could set her off. Too much dressing on her salad. If she thought you were looking at her funny. Someone talking to Joey and not paying enough attention to her. You never knew when she might go off. It was awful - just awful."

"Sounds like it," Aaron said. "How did Joey put up with it?"

"He put up with it for you," Lance said, taking Aaron's hand. "They were pretty much near divorce when she got pregnant with you. No one knows for sure whether she did it on purpose, or whether it was just - well, you know - an unplanned thing."

"An accident," Aaron said. "But not in a bad way. I know."

"You were the light of his life, Aaron. And all that mattered in the world to him. When you were born - I'll never forget it - he was ecstatic. The happiest I had ever seen him. It was like you proved to him that good could come out of any situation."

"I've read the things he wrote in my baby book."

"He was not the kind of guy to write things down much. Joey wasn't. But he had his moments, that's for sure."

"You were close, you and him."

Yeah-we were."

"So did things get better with Melanie after I was born?"

"Nope," Lance said, slowly shaking his head. "It was hard to imagine things getting much worse. But they did."

"How come?"

"Well, for one, Melanie hated being pregnant. To her it was a curse, and all Joey's fault. So she of course took it out on him. Then once you were born she was jealous of how happy Joey was, and took it out on him even more."

"So why didn't he just leave her?"

"He knew she'd never share custody if he tried to divorce her, so he toughed it out - for you he did."

"Wow," Aaron said, visibly stunned. "I guess I knew that in a way, but...wow."

"The trip to Mexico was a last ditch effort to fix things up. I think they were both tired of fighting, even Melanie finally. But then, well-you know."

"Yes."

Silence settled between them. Aaron looked out the window and watched a blurry landscape slip by. The rain made everything dull and wet. The woman in the red wool coat sneezed, then pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her nose. He heard his Dad whisper a quiet, barely audible "Bless you." Aaron smiled hearing him.

"I've heard a lot of stories about him," Aaron said, half-turning in his seat toward Lance. "About Joey and how crazy he could be. How wild."

"He had his moments," Lance said, slowing nodding. "He certainly liked to have a good time, to laugh and be carefree. But he also had a heart like no other - open, caring, generous, and forgiving. He was a great guy Aaron. You remind me of him in a lot of different ways."

"Especially with the Joey-special," Aaron said. "I'm a real prodigy there."

"The what?" Lance said, not sure he'd heard. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," Aaron said, shaking his head. "Just remembering something Justin told me, stories about him. It's not important."

"Okay," Lance said, frowning. "But if you're talking about what I think you're talking about, just remember that Justin was way worse in his day than Joey ever was. Joey liked to have fun, but he was never cynical or cruel about it."

"I'll remember that," Aaron said, taking a deep breath and nodding. "Thanks for answering my questions though. And for being honest."

"You're welcome," Lance said, smiling as Aaron put his arm around him and tightly hugged his shoulders. "Very much so."

Aaron paused for several seconds, looking into Lance's eyes. He smiled, tilting his head slightly to one side. "I love you Dad," he said. And then he held Lance tighter, not letting go until they had reached their stop five minutes later near the corner at Fourth and Morrison. The evening air surrounded them as they disembarked the train and heard the doors clang closed behind them. The hotel was only a few blocks away, and they walked there slowly, and in silence. Lance paused when they reached the hotel, stopping in front of it, then turning to face Aaron.

"I want to tell you something else about Joey," Lance said. "Something I want you to remember."

"All right Dad."

"When Josh was gone-"

"Living in Barcelona."

"Yes," Lance said. "But I didn't know that then."

"That's right," Aaron said. "You only found out after."

"When Josh was gone it was Joey who convinced me to keep believing, to not give up. I had started thinking that maybe it was time to just move on, to accept the fact that maybe I had had my one big chance at love and simply fucked it up."

"You really believed that?"

"I did," Lance said. "And I figured that meaningless sex was what I was going to have to be all about. I mean, after I'd cheated on Josh - that's all I thought I was capable of anymore. But...anyway, I was pretty jaded."

"That makes me sad."

"Well, don't be," Lance said, putting his hand on Aaron's shoulder. "Because there was a happy-ending, remember?"

"Yeah, there was," Aaron said, his smile returned. "A really happy ending."

"But I couldn't see it back then," Lance said. "Until Joey showed up with you in his arms and a bag of toys and baby-stuff so big I could hardly carry it."

"Really? He just showed up?"

"Out of the blue," Lance said, smiling. "Like a granted wish. Except it was a wish I had forgotten to make."

"What'd you guys do?"

"Mostly just talked. And played with you."

"Was it fun?"

"It was the best."

"I wish I could remember."

"Well, I remembered it for you."

"Yeah you did."

"When he left the next day, do you know what he told me?"

"No," Aaron said, his eyes rapt. "Tell me."

"He said - 'When Josh gets home, and you two are together again - and you will be. You two should find a way to have a baby. Adopt or something. But find a way to do it. Because you two would make great parents. I know you would.'"

"What did you say?"

"I just laughed and thought, 'Oh Joey, be serious.' And then left it at that."

"But he was serious."

"Yes he was."

"He looks older, James does."

"Yes," JC said, taking the photograph from Aaron and sliding it back into the envelope with his name on it. "He does."

"It's his eyes," Aaron said. "It's like the light has gone out of them."

"He's been through a lot," JC said, pulling his legs up onto the couch where he sat next to Aaron. "But he's doing better now. Ryan waking up, or coming out of his coma, whatever you want to call it - it's restored his faith a bit. Or at least I hope it has."

"Me too," Aaron said, his voice quiet and unsure, lapsing into uncertain silence. "I want him to be happy."

"I'm sure he wants the same for you."

"I am happy," Aaron said. "Mostly so."

"I had a nice time today at Fort Clatsop," JC said. "Your Dad did too."

"I had no idea he was such a Lewis and Clark nut," Aaron said, looking at JC and smiling. "He was spouting facts right and left."

"What does Clatsop mean again?"

"It's Lower Chinookan for 'those who have pounded salmon' - whatever that means, pounding salmon."

"Sounds kind of nasty, actually-or lesbian."

"Dad," Aaron laughed. "That's horrible."

"What's horrible?" Lance said, stepping into the room.

"Dad's making bad jokes about lesbians."

"Nice," Lance said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "And so mature."

"Oh, pipe down," JC said. "I was just being funny."

"Tell that to a lesbian."

"You're just oversensitive," JC said, winking at Lance then turning to look at Aaron. "When your dad first joined the band Chris and Joey used to tease him about looking like a lesbian."

"It's true," Lance said, nodding. "And of course everyone thought it was hysterically funny - Lance the albino lesbian."

"Well it was kind of," JC said. "You have to admit."

"I'll admit no such thing," Lance said, his hands on his hips, trying to look serious but failing. "It was an awful, awful time in my life. I'm still not over it."

Aaron laughed as Lance rubbed his eyes, pretending to cry.

"Poor thing," JC said, standing up and patting Lance softly on the shoulder. "The trauma of it all. And the sting still so fresh."

Aaron laughed again and stood up too, plunging his hands into his front pockets. He watched as JC hugged Lance, them both softly laughing. Lance kissed JC as they pulled slowly back from their hug, and then kissed him again. Aaron wondered if he should leave the room. The mood seemed to be getting more than a little romantic.

"I think I'll go finish loading the SUV," Aaron said, pulling a hand out of one pocket and pointing outside. "And find Da. We have to be leaving in an hour or so."

"All right," JC said, glancing over his shoulder at Aaron. "Your dad and I will get our stuff together and meet you down here in an hour. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great," Aaron said, feeling himself begin to blush as he realized that his dads were probably going to go upstairs and quickly make love. "I guess I'll see you two in a little bit then."

"Great," Lance said, taking JC's hand and beginning to lead him from the room. "We won't be long."

"Oh-take your time," Aaron said, smiling. "Packing, I mean."

"We will," JC said, laughing as Lance blushed. "Don't worry."

"So what did you think of her?"

"The word vapid comes to mind."

"Among others."

I hated how obviously she was working it."

"And that Aaron didn't seem to notice."

"Or care."

"You know what's scary."

"I know exactly what you're going to say."

"What?"

"Melanie."

"Yup-Melanie. The scared hungry eyes. Look at me, look at me."

"And the way she finished his sentences."

"Like she was afraid he might say the wrong thing."

"Like - 'Don't worry Dad, Cameron's just a girl I like to bonk. I'm not marrying her.' Something like that?"

"You're bad."

"But still right."

"True."

"She's probably a ferocious fuck."

"Ooh, don't say that."

"But you know how that goes."

"I guess. Still-"

"Yeah, I know."

"We don't dare say negative anything to Aaron though."

"You mean more what's already been said."

"But that was before we met her."

"You're right."

"We'll be Switzerland."

"What? Switzerland?"

"Neutral."

"Ahh-Switzerland, yes."

"I think it'll pass on its own. It's hard to see him getting serious with her."

"She's serious though."

"Ooh yeah. She's looking to marry up big-time."

"I kept waiting for her to invite me to go pick out china patterns with her."

"Aaron's way too young to be thinking about hooking up with someone serious."

"I thought you said you wanted him to get more serious."

"Not with her I don't."

"Eighteen isn't too young to find someone and fall in love - or rumor has it."

"Everyone's different. And I just think...I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think she's vapid."

"So we agree on that much."

"We agree on more than that."

"Yeah. True."

"Like this for example. We agree on this don't we?"

"Hmm-that feels good."

"And this, we agree on this too, don't we?"

"That we really agree on."

"Come here."

"I'm lying right next to you."

"No - come on. Over here."

"What? No, sweetie - let's stay in the bed."

"Come on, the chair will be fun. We haven't done chair for a while."

"Well we've never done that chair - I admit."

"See - all the more reason then. Come sit in my lap."

"Ah, so now I'm a lap-dancer, am I?"

"And a damn fine one at that."

"You just want me to do all the work."

"I like to watch your face. I love your face."

"You love my ass."

"That too."

"Looks like someone's ready."

"This guy's always ready for you."

"Hmm-like this?"

"Yeah, just like that."

"Now down a little, yeah."

"Yeah, there you go."

"Hmm...now what could that be I feel poking me?"

"Okay, now you're teasing me."

"Be patient maestro. I'm the one in charge here. And it'll go in when I'm ready."

"You ready yet?"

"Stop-"

"How about now? You ready now?"

"Stop-you're making me laugh."

"Then start."

"You want in, don't you?"

"Tease."

"Tell me."

"I want in baby. I want inside you. I want to feel you on me. Please."

"Where's the slippery stuff?"

"Right here."

"What'd you do, stash it all over the room?"

"Of course I did."

"Is it cold?"

"I don't mind. It won't be cold for long."

"You ready?"

"What do you think?"

"Hey-slow down. I said be patient. There you go."

"You know you're killing me, don't you?"

"How's this then for a little taste of what's to come?"

"Pun intended?"

"Pun intended."

"Oh man, yeah...that's it."

"And a little more."

"Now you're talking."

"Yeah I am."

"You feel me?"

"You know I do."

"You're beautiful. You're lips open always just a little when-"

"Mmm-"

"Nice, nice. Nice."

"Very nice."

"Are you okay?"

"Better than that."

"Ohh-uh, uh, uh, baby..."

"Now some up. And. Some. Down."

"Oh baby...oh man, Josh."

"Faster now."

"Uh-huh. Yeah."

"And kisses...yeah."

"Let's get on the floor."

"I'm close already baby, like before."

"Me too."

"So fast."

"Fast is good sometimes."

"Fast together."

"Oh...yeah."

"On the floor. Please."

"On top of you."

"Yeah. Press down on me. I love to feel your weight on me. Lance-"

"Josh. Josh. Josh."

"Lance."

"Josh."

"Lance."

"Josh-Josh. Josh."

"Oh fuck Lance-hold me."

"I'm holding you Josh."

"Oh don't...oh don't...oh don't...yeah, yeah, yeah-"

"I won't baby. I won't."

"Oh here goes-there, there, there."

"Ahh-Josh, Joshua!"

"Lance."

"Josh. Amazing."

"Mmm-"

"Amazing."

"Yes."

"Amazing."

Hey you two,

I just wanted to write and say how great it was seeing you both. I also wanted to say that I think that, ever since my first Christmas with you, every time I say to myself afterwards: That was the best Christmas ever. I am the luckiest guy in the world to have the best dad in the world, two of them. And this Christmas was no different.

On the other hand, I know that it's in a way different now that I'm not a little kid anymore. Or even so much a big kid. And I know that our relationship is changing - or maybe evolving is a better word. But either way I want you to know that a part of me will always be your doting loving little boy, the one who believed in Santa until he was nearly twelve. (By the way -- how in the heck did you ever get James, who I'm pretty sure never believed in Santa, not to spill the beans? That was either a pretty big bribe or just another example of how much James cared for me. Or maybe both.)

Anyway, I might be getting older, making choices that are sometimes whacked. And I may not always be as nice or patient or understanding as I'd like to be. But you know, and I know, I'll always be a product of your love and support and care. Maybe it's naïve to think this, but it just seems impossible that I could ever go too far wrong having had the gift of being raised by the two of you. So I hope you'll trust your own decisions having raised me (~ and still raising me! Don't stop!) I hope you'll always really believe that the job you did was so good, I'm going keep turning out all right.

All your gifts this year, as always, were great. But the best gift was the same as always - the gift of your love and trust and respect. Like I said, I know there are parts of my life that you are not 100% behind, or that maybe you have some doubts about. But I know that, no matter what, you are always still 100% behind me. And I am 100% grateful for that, and always will be.

I love you both

8

~ Aaron Chasez Bass

"Let's nail it this time," Todd said, his voice weary and sad. "So we can get the fuck out of here tonight. Darcy...."

"Take nineteen-rolling."

"Who was it?" Cameron said, staring straight at Aaron, the pink draining from her face, her eyes narrowing into an angry, accusatory squint. She pushed Aaron away and grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself. The set was her small apartment, and they stood in the middle of it, cameras on each side of them, filming simultaneously, each from an opposite angle, capturing the confrontation as if the cameras were facing off too.

"Someone you don't know," Aaron said, his voice wilting, like his body wilted as he slumped down onto the couch, staring up at Cameron, who was dressing in a torn gray sweatshirt and gym shorts, her arms angrily folded, beginning to cry.

"I'm sorry," Aaron said, like Arthur might say it, with equal parts sadness, confusion, and dismay. "It wasn't anything. It was a mistake. I felt lonely and horrible and I ran into...this girl I knew a long time ago."

"Claire?"

"No-god no," he said, half-smiling, against his will, at the thought of it. "What a notion. Look Phlox."

She walked over to where he sat and he pulled her into his lap, rubbing his cheek against the torn nubby fabric of her sweatshirt.

"Please Phlox, you have to forgive me, you have to. I don't have any feelings for this woman. It's nothing."

She whirled around, angry and curious, eyes red.

"What does she look like?"

"She's blond. Very blond and cold."

"As blond and cold as Arthur?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "I don't know."

"But you can tell me anything," she said. "I'll believe anything you tell me."

She was crying now, and so was he, their arms wrapped around each other as he slowly bounced her in his lap, rocking her back and forth, like you would a crying baby.

"I love you Art," she whispered.

"I love you too," he said, suddenly wondering who it really was he was talking to, and why. He felt like the scene should make sense somehow, but it didn't, and he did not know why. Standing up after Todd had said that that was all he needed, he found himself walking aimlessly away, shaking his head, feeling a little afraid, and a little lost. He thought he heard someone call after him, but he ignored it. He kept on walking, walking until the voices behind him were like imagined whispers, fading away, unreal.

"So who's this?"

Aaron turned around to look, smiling. But the smile quickly melted from his face, and he turned back to the bag he was packing, picking up his pace.

He wanted suddenly to be done, more than before, and then to go. Not to flee really; simply to be on his way. The winter sun seemed rare and fragile, almost out of place, like a light that someone had forgot to turn off before leaving an otherwise empty room. Still, he wanted to be out in what natural light there was before it disappeared. He hadn't expected to miss truly sunny days so much. And to so dislike the rain, the way the damp could inhabit you, and clouds could press down like an unwanted weight he was forced to carry around.

"That's my friend James," Aaron said, slipping a pair of socks into a Nike running shoe and then stuffing the shoe into his bag. "We were best-friends once."

"And you're not anymore?"

"I don't know what we are anymore."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It's not."

"Do you need some help with that?"

"No I got it," Aaron said, glancing over his shoulder at Jake, making himself smile, giving him that. He didn't want Jake asking what was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Nothing he could explain, except to blame the weather. "I'm almost done."

"Why are you going to Seattle?"

"Something to do," Aaron said, turning back around, looking at Jake. "To get away. To be alone. To have a weekend someplace else for a change."

"A change of scenery."

"You might say that."

"Only two weeks of shooting left," Jake said, trying to sound cheerful. "No more need to get away after that."

"Thank god."

"It's been long, huh?"

"Too long," Aaron said, fastening closed the bag he'd been packing. "I thought I'd be back at school by now."

"Harvard."

"Yeah, for second semester."

"You like Reed though."

"I do," Aaron said, walking to Jake, taking the framed photograph from his hand and setting it back on the bed-side table, next to two other photographs. "But I'm a Harvard man, remember?"

"I remember that you're a man," Jake said, putting his hands on Aaron's hips and pulling him forward towards him. "A beautiful sexy man who I can't seem to get enough of - ever."

"Hey - down boy," Aaron said, kissing Jake's nose. "And don't be making those pouty-face eyes either. You got plenty of me already today."

"But you'll be gone for three days."

"Barely," Aaron said, irritated. "I get back on Sunday at one. I imagine you'll survive until then, don't you think?"

"I just meant..."

"I know," Aaron said, touching Jake's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Is anything wrong?"

"Jake-nothing's wrong. So relax."

"Okay," Jake said, glancing at the floor, at the toes of Aaron's shoes, which were scuffed brown suede oxfords, of course untied. "Do you want me to pick you up at the train station when you get back?"

"I'll just cab it," Aaron said, picking up his bag and setting it next to the door. "It takes like five minutes. Or if it's not raining, maybe I'll walk."

As Aaron turned back from the door, he felt Jake slide his hand up under the tail of his shirt, his fingers felt warm on the knuckles of his spine, counting the indentations, touching them like piano-keys, playing an nine-note scale down to his tailbone, which was then caressed, Jake's finger exploring the cleft of flesh there, and the smoothness going down. He shuddered at the slight pressure, and sighed. He knew what Jake wanted once before he went. There was an unmistakable greediness to his touch and he found himself resenting it. Most time he did not mind this attention, but this time he did.

"No," Aaron whispered, feeling Jake's breath on the back of his neck, and then the tip of his tongue. He pulled away but then found himself turned around. He glared for a moment, then let the glare fade, his affect disappearing. "I'll miss my train."

"So miss it," Jake said. "There's a later one."

"You know I've been looking forward to this trip," Aaron said, angry, stepping back, his heel colliding with a thud against the door. "And you know what I said before, said last night even. I want to keep things loose between you and me Jake. This acting all like you can hardly stand to be away from me for even a weekend is...it's just. I don't know. It's too much."

"But..."

"No," Aaron said, holding up his hand. "I am going to Seattle. I am going alone. We are not going to fight right now. We can talk about this when I get back. Everything is fine. I'm not mad at you. Don't be upset. That's it."

"Okay," Jake said, shaking his head, blushing. "I was being stupid. And selfish. I, I...I don't know, I just can't help it. When I'm near you, I just want you so much. You are so beautiful to me, and you make me feel so good, that I just can't seem...."

"All right," Aaron said, stepping forward and taking Jake's hand. "It's okay. Like I said, I'm not mad at you Jake."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"And I'm an idiot."

"You're not," Aaron said, putting his hands on the back of Jake's neck, fingers interlaced, his thumbs rubbing the sharp profile of his jaw. "You're special. And special to me, you've become. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome," Jake said, watching Aaron's face descend toward his, a kiss on the way, with a smile attached.

"Why don't you stay in my room, if you want?"

"I'd like that, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Aaron said, smiling. "You can keep the bed warm for me."

"I'll leave you alone, if you'd like."

It was Sam the nurse speaking, his hand on Aaron's shoulder as they stood in the courtyard at Duncan-Doulay House. A faint breeze made the delicate feathered leaves of the red Japanese maple rustle and whisper. In the near distance he could hear the faint crystalline tinkling of a wind chime. The hooded sweatshirt that Aaron wore pressed warmly against the back of his neck. He was glad he had remembered to bring it along. The air felt damp and the sky threatened rain.

"No, I'm fine," Aaron said, turning to look at Sam again, grateful that he was there, and that he did not have to stand there making sense of this alone. "I was just trying to imagine what it must have been like for them, sitting here, what they talked about, and whether it was sad."

"I can say I heard them laughing," Sam said, his easy smile a welcome gift to Aaron, as reassuring as a smile could be. "Many times I did."

"James has a really nice laugh," Aaron said, smiling back at Sam, admiring the gentleness of his smooth pudgy face, and the warmth of his brown eyes. "I remember that about him."

"Yes he did," Sam said. "And a wit as sharp as Ryan's was. Those two were dangerous together."

"He could be unsparing," Aaron said, drawing his breath in sharply, like he'd felt a sudden stinging pain. "He was never the kind of person to see things except exactly as they were. He called it being realistic. But it always seemed pessimistic to me."

"We all see the world differently."

"Yes - I guess we do," Aaron said, sliding his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. "So how long have you worked here?"

"Eighteen years."

"That's a long time."

"Yes," Sam said. "It is."

"What did James do here? I mean besides visiting Ryan."

"He started out helping in the kitchen," Sam said, turning around and pointing. "That's the common-room in there for the adult day-health program. We serve breakfast and lunch there every day for our clients. James helped put the food out."

"Like every day?"

"Three days a week."

"And that's how he met Ryan?"

"No. Ryan was upstairs in the residential care program - RCP."

"Then...?"

"Ryan liked to come down here, out in the courtyard, to sit here and smoke and think and watch the birds. We have a feeder right up there. In the spring it gets awfully noisy out here with all the chirping sparrows, and the occasional bluebird or robin."

"It sounds nice."

"It is," Sam said. "Especially with the flowers blooming - that azalea there is as purple as anything you've ever seen, and that lilac blinding white."

"My father loves flowers."

"Joshua-yes."

"You know him?"

"I met him when he was here - of course," Sam said. "When he came to get Ryan. But I knew of him before."

"From his music."

"No from his donations here," Sam said, looking puzzled. "He and Lance have been quite generous in their support of this place."

"Really?"

"Yes," Sam said, nodding. "Didn't you know?"

"No, I guess I didn't."

"They've donated a lot of money over the years."

"Before Ryan even?"

"Yes," Sam said. "We'd be turning away people otherwise. AIDS is old news these days, and the public funding just isn't there anymore. It's a tragedy, but true."

"I never knew," Aaron said. "But I never asked either. I should have."

"Maybe so," Sam said. "But then, they always refused to let us publicize their donations - sizable ones - for a new roof when we needed it, and vans that take the day-health clients on outings. Your fathers have always been there for us."

"And James found Ryan here," Aaron said, his voice drifting off. "Like it was meant to be almost."

"I'd like to think so," Sam said, his hand on Aaron's shoulder again. "James was so good for him, taking him every week to see his doctor, and to the park."

"Volunteer park."

"Yes."

"I went there this afternoon," Aaron said. "Right after I got into town. It's a beautiful park - an Olmsted brothers design. The same guys who designed Central Park in New York City."

"I didn't know that."

"Now you do," Aaron said smiling. "A fun fact to share with friends."

"Yes."

"James was very kind to visit Ryan so. I know he must have been."

"Ryan tried to act as if it didn't matter," Sam said. "Whether James visited or not. He was always acting the tough-guy who didn't care about anything anymore. But it meant the world to him, those visits, I can tell you that for sure."

"I'm sure as well," Aaron said, almost as if to himself. "He was always so caring, nothing if not caring-and so giving too. What a heart he had, James - such a heart."

"They made quite a pair," Sam said, laughing softly. "Quite a pair."

Aaron said nothing. The only sound he made was a long sigh. He remembered how he and James had been quite a pair once. But no more. Those days were gone, and in the past where he believed that they would now forever stay. It hurt him to think like this, but he felt like he'd be lying to himself to think anything else. Taking a deep breath he turned to face Sam, who looked up at him.

"Do you think that I might come back tomorrow?" Aaron asked, his eyes wide and glossy wet. "And help serve food or something. I'd like to very much."

"Of course, if you'd like," Sam said. "There's usually a training-session you have to go through first, but I think we can make an exception in your case."

"Thank you," Aaron said, rubbing his eyes on the back of his sleeve, then smiling at Sam, who smiled back at him. "Thank you very much."

"Well, why don't I finish showing you around, and then you can be on your way."

"All right," Aaron said. "Lead the way."

"There's a room upstairs," Sam said, guiding Aaron from the courtyard. "That I think James would like you to see. It was especially important to him when Ryan ended up here again, after-well, you know about that."

"Yes," Aaron said. "But not about the room. Will you tell me about it?"

"Of course," Sam said, smiling gently at Aaron. "Just like I told James too. It is a long story, but a good and touching one."

They had made there way to the lobby and were now facing the elevator. The receptionist who had been there when Aaron had first arrived was gone now. The lights had been dimmed. Shadows lurked at in the corners. Shards of colored glass, and pieces of shiny metal, like bits of broken jewelry, studded cream-colored ceramic tiles that covered the walls. Engraved and gold-leafed lines of poetry were interspersed with the names of donor carved in cursive, a flowing calligraphy of beneficence. He wondered if he looked he'd find his dad's name somewhere up there, Chasez or Bass, his names now. He smiled feeling Sam take his hand, getting his attention.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," Aaron said as the elevator door slid silently open. "I am."

"I said - he's not here."

Jake stood in the half-open doorway wearing only boxer shorts, a pair belonging to Aaron that he'd put on to sleep in. It was just past midnight.

He'd been roused by someone pounding on the door, pounding and yowling. It was Beau, who now had his hand high on the doorframe, leaning like he needed the wall to hold him up. The smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath. Jake cringed when he smelled it, and stepped back.

"Where-zee?" Beau said, the words a single slur. "Where-zaaron?"

"He's not here," Jake repeated. "He's in Seattle."

"Aaron!" Beau shouted. "Come-out, come-out where'd-evver you-dar!"

"Beau," Jake said, pulling the door closed except for a few inches. He was afraid that Beau was about to lurch inside. "Aaron's not here."

"Where'd in duh fucking shit did he go then? And wahd in duh fucking shit is you be doing in his fucking room? Huh?"

"He said I could stay here," Jake said, starting to shut the door. "While he was gone. Now go to bed."

"I don't wanna fucking go tah bed," Beau said, slapping at the door, holding it open. "I wanna fucking talk tah me buddy Aaron. Aaron!"

"Look - he's not here," Jake said, angrily. "And if he's not here, he can't talk to you. So go the fuck to bed Beau."

"You're hiding him, ain't you?" Beau said, pushing harder against the door now while Jake just as hard pushed back. They were evenly matched, and the door remained open only enough for Beau and Jake to be closely face to face.

The smell of Beau's breath made Jake nearly gag. "Faggot!"

"Fuck you," Jake hissed.

"Aaron," Beau shouted. "Your little faggot-friend here be trying tuh keep you's from talking to me, ain't you, you little faggot, trying to keep Aaron for your own sick-twisted fucking self and turn him all faggoty, ain't you. Aaron!"

"Fuck you," Jake said again, giving the door a vicious shove and managing to get it shut. He heard Beau stumble and fall on the other side, and then start to shout again, saying "Faggot, faggot, faggot!" over and over again, for nearly ten minutes, until security finally came to take Beau back to bed. When he was gone, and silence once more dominated, Jake called Aaron and nearly crying told him what had happened.

"That's the way some people are," Aaron said when Jake was through telling his story and was mostly calm again. "You just have to ignore it, and then move on. You shouldn't care what he thinks anyway."

They talked for two hours after that, until both of them could barely keep their eyes open. One would yawn, and then the other. Each said good-night several times, and then kept talking. It felt strange and good, this long conversation, longer than they had ever had before. And when it finally came time for a final good-night, they found it hard to say. But they did, hanging up the phone, each with a weary smile, feeling connected somehow, with their friendship having moved forward.

A steady misting rain wet his face as he stood silently staring across the reservoir at the sky beyond. He had walked here, back to the park, after finishing his last visit to Duncan-Doulay House. It had been a long walk, taking nearly an hour walking slowly, with a stop in front of the building where James had once lived, and might live again. After several minutes standing there, the busy traffic-filled street at his back, he had decided against pressing the buzzer. Even if Stephen had been there he knew he would nothing to say to him, and that it would be awkward. "I guess I just wanted to see what it looked like, where he had moved to-you know, when he left San Diego." Stephen would smirk in that way he had, like on the lacrosse field, side-stepping a tackle. Finally, shrugging, he had walked across the street to the 7-Eleven instead and bought a granola bar. Then he had turned right down 15th Street and headed for the park.

He had not been standing there long. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. He did not bother to look at his watch. He knew he needed to get back to the hotel soon, to pick up his stuff and then head to the train station. But for a few moments more he wanted to memorize this scene - the sky dimly luminescent, grey curdling clouds hovering above the Olympic mountains like puffs of dense smoke, and the air still and cool, smelling like the inside of an oyster shell. He knew that James had stood here more than once, looking out at this vista, wondering about innumerable things that he had himself probably not once deeply considered. He was not inclined toward wondering himself, toward restless speculation. But now doubt seemed to gnaw at him and he was beset with insecurity. He felt unsure, groping and unsteady. Here standing in the rain

What did he know for sure? He knew that he had sat on a well-worn couch in the adult day-health room with someone whose name was Eugene Alcestis, a twenty-nine year old man with AIDS, blind from cytomegalovirus retinitis, an opportunistic infection that had nearly killed him, but left him only blind instead. He had helped Eugene through the buffet-line, describing the foods so he could decide what to have for breakfast. He had handed Eugene his pills, one by one, while Eugene asked him with each what color the pill was.

Later he had watched Eugene slowly eat his breakfast, and listened to him tell the story of how eleven years ago he had been infected with HIV.

-I knew he was positive, he said. -I thought it meant we would always be together. That being infected was something we could share. But I was wrong.

An illness is only your own, your own-most destiny. Nothing is more personal than dying. And so now I'm blind, and now I'm here.

-Yes.

-Why are you here?

-I don't know.

He had helped Eugene clear his dishes, and find his way to couch. The blindness was obviously still new to him.

-I'm used to seeing things, he said. -So it's hard.

-I could read to you.

-That would be nice.

-Do you like poetry?

-Not really.

-What else then? I could find something.

-You must like poetry to have suggested it? Why?

-Do I like poetry?

-Yes.

-I'm not sure.

-Poetry then. Something you like. Something beautiful. I'd like that.

He had reached for his backpack then and found the book that Barry had given him for Christmas. The page had been marked already. He had read this one before.

-I think you'll like this, he said. -I do.

And he remembered that Eugene did like the poem he read, his head lolling on his shoulder as he listened, his fingers slowly tapping the poem's rhythm into his thin bony knees, up until the last few lines when he sensed the poem ending.

O may no wintry season, bare and hoary, See it half finished: but let Autumn bold, With universal tinge of sober gold, Be all about me when I make an end! And now at once, adventuresome, I send My herald thought into a wilderness: There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress My uncertain path with green, that I may speed Easily onward, through flowers and weed.

-That was beautiful, Eugene said. -Through flowers and weed. I like that for some reason. It speaks to me.

-Did you know that a weed is simply a plant that grew some place that it was not supposed to? A flower could be a weed if it grew in the wrong place.

-I feel like a weed sometimes.

-So do I.

-May I have a copy of that poem for myself? A photocopy or something.

He had given him the book instead. He knew he could get another. And he knew that Barry would not mind, that he would be happy instead. Barry had on so many occasions, five that he could remember, been looking for a book and then stopped and laughed and said -Oh I gave that one away. I'll have to buy another copy.

He smiled remembering how Barry had said this, his laughing eyes, the gentle tilt of his head, his long thin fingers pressed to his face, his easy smile. And as he remembered again reading Eugene the poem, its first few lines still echoing in his head, lingering there, as if to remind him what lessons he had learned today, or perhaps simply remembered.

"Thank you Eugene," he whispered.

And then he was back on his way.

"I still can't believe you're here," Aaron said. "What a weird surprise."

"Collie here arranged it," Toni said, the nub of her fingernail tapping the edge of her wine glass. "He heard I was in San Diego and rang me up."

"Todd was frantic for a fill-in," Colin said, his smile bordering, as it usually did, on a smirk. "So I told him, Toni Colette is who you fecking need. She's aces. And perfect for the part. That's what I told him."

"It's just one scene," Toni said, nudging Colin with her elbow. He sat beside her in the dark back booth in the bar at Hamburger Mary's, with Aaron across from them. "And hardly a stretch - me playing another tough old broad."

"Gave you an excuse to see me though," Colin said. "And me gorgeous mug."

"Still your own greatest fan, I see."

"You can never have too many fans," Colin said, presenting Toni a comical smile. "That's what I always say."

"To the mirror."

"I see time hasn't mellowed you much," Colin said, laughing. "But that be all right, I like my women to have a bit of fight in 'em."

"Your women," Toni said, making a loud piffft noise. "Scrubbers you mean."

"Now A-bomb," Colin said. "Are you hearing the nonsense that be coming from this one's mouth. Fecking outrageous I'd say it is."

"Da - she's just running you on because she likes you so."

"Ahh - so now you're an expert in female psychology, is that it?" Toni said. "Or is it that you're just trying - and failing - to be funny?"

"I always thought you two would be good together," Aaron said, smiling. "But then no one asked for my opinion."

"You're right," Toni said. "And for a reason that was."

"So where's your mate Barry?" Colin asked, rattling the ice in his glass, which was now nearly empty. "Never not seen it where he weren't working."

"Tonight's his night with his little brother," Aaron said. "They do stuff every other Tuesday, and sometimes on weekends too."

"I thought he had no family?" Colin said, frowning and scratching his head. "An orphan or something like that."

"He doesn't," Aaron said. "It's a volunteer thing he does."

"Who's this Barry?" Toni asked. "Is he a guy?"

"Of course he's a guy," Colin said. "He said he woman. Besides - what sort of name is Barry for a girl? A fineGaelic name too - means 'like a spear'."

"Really?" Aaron said. "That's kind of cool. Barry's always saying he's got warrior blood in him. He's one-quarter Chinook."

"He's part salmon?"

"Tis the name of an Indian tribe Toni," Colin said, playfully scowling. "For fecking beggar's sake - how many martinis have right bloody you had tonight?"

"Not enough apparently," Toni sniffed. "I'm still seeing you clear enough."

"Are you two going to be flirting the whole time we're here," Aaron said, grinning. "Because I can leave if want to be alone."

"That one there's become a bit of a runaround," Colin said, pointing at Aaron. "And if he doesn't want me telling tales out of school, I be thinking he better be shutting up with the teasing of me for who I may or may not be flirting with."

"Shutting up now," Aaron said, pretending to look scared. "Mouth closed. Lips sealed. Locked up. No more talking."

"A runaround huh?" Toni said, tapping a fingernail on the tabletop. "Do tell."

"Da-" Aaron said, warning him. "No stories. You promised."

"Yeah, well," Colin said, smiling. "There's not much to tell anyway. He's been no worse than you and I was at his age Toni, assuming you can remember back that far."

"Egads," Toni said, laughing as she tapped the tabletop again. "You have been busy then."

Aaron blushed and smiled weakly, then shrugged. Toni and Colin continued to share a laugh, hardly noticing Aaron standing up.

"I'm going to head back to the hotel," Aaron said, once they looked up. "And leave you two to your story-telling. Try to be kind."

"Well, we didn't mean to drive you off," Toni said. "Will you stay if we swear an oath to be on our best behavior?"

"Like that's going to happen," Aaron said, smiling. "But no worries. I have some studying to do. Plus I have to be ready for our big scene tomorrow."

"All right then," Toni said. "But let me walk you to the door."

"You don't have to do that," Aaron said, waving her away. "I know my way out."

"I know," Toni said, sliding out of the booth and smooth the front of her skirt and blouse. "But maybe I have secrets to tell you that I don't want Collie to hear."

"Well then-" Aaron said, laughing. "Let's go."

"See you Da," Aaron said, rubbing Colin's shoulder.

"Traitor," Colin said, just joking. "A curse on your house and all who's in it."

"I'll be right back," Toni said, pointing at Colin. "So don't be picking up some bimbo while I'm gone."

"Yeah, well - take your chances," Colin said. "I ain't promising nothing."

"Men," Toni said, looking at Aaron and rolling her eyes. "What a joke."

Colin watched as Aaron and Toni walked slowly toward the door. He knew that she would be telling him something about Ryan, and something about James. She had told him earlier how things were going, how Ryan was doing, and the toll it was taking on James. Since coming out of the coma what progress there was had been slow. It made him sad to think of it, for Ryan and for Toni, the two of them so close once. She put on such an air of invincibility, but he knew that her heart had to be breaking over how it all had to end. Sighing, he picked up his glance and drained what was left of his scotch.

"Well, are you?"

"Uh-look, Cameron," Aaron said, putting down his fork and looking around at the several nearby diners who were now staring. "Can we talk about this later?"

"No, I want to talk about it now."

"Yeah, but here?"

"Yes here," Cameron said, crossing her arms on her chest, glaring. "I don't want Beau talking shit about us anymore."

"Shit is shit Cammie," Aaron said. "I don't give a fuck what Beau is saying, about us or otherwise."

"Great - fine for you," she said, pushing her plate away, causing a fork to clatter to the floor and people to stare again, this time less amused. "But I sure as shit care that someone is going around saying that I'm fucking a fag, okay? What great blind-item in a gossip-column that would make!"

"Whatever," Aaron said, returning his attention to his food, knowing he was blushing. "Fuck Beau."

"I can see it now," she said, her voice angrier, her eyes narrow, her cheeks pinking, her nostrils flared. "What up-and-coming starlet in-the-making has a mystery of her own wondering whether to say bye-bye-bye to Hollywood's latest It-boy who may be canoodling with members of more than one team, that is, if the force is really with him."

"You make that up on the spot or you been practicing that."

"Oh fuck you."

"You're being ridiculous," Aaron said, swallowing hard and glaring at her. He did not try to hide his disgust. "And insulting."

"No - you're making me look ridiculous," she said, standing and pointing at him. "And if you're not willing to at least deny that you're fucking Jake then you're insulting me too. You're insulting my intelligence."

"Your intelligence," Aaron said, pushing his plate away, and throwing his napkin on top of it. He was about to stand up. "That's a laugh."

"Oh-just because I'm not in goddamn college I'm not intelligent. Is that it?"

"Cammie..."

"Don't Cammie me," she said, stomping her foot as people in the restaurant openly whispered and stared. "And don't tell me I'm not smart, because I sure as shit didn't get to be where I am by being stupid."

"Yeah-you're looks had nothing to do with it."

"Look who's talking - pretty boy with two rich fag dads!"

"Look," Aaron said, standing up and grabbing the finger that she had pointed at him. "If you want to talk about you and me, we can talk about it back at the hotel. But don't be talking shit about my dads, you got that? Because otherwise, you can forget it, forget all of it - nice knowing you, blah-blah-blah, et cetera, and it's over."

"Don't talk to..."

"I'm going to pay the check," Aaron said, interrupting her again. "I'll be outside in a minute. Wait or not, I don't really care."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah whatever," Aaron said, slowly shaking his head, pulling out his wallet, and then looking for the waiter. "Fuck you too."

He heard her gather up her coat and bag, then leave, knocking over a chair in her rush. He did not know whether she had let the chair fall on purpose, and he didn't care. He had been kidding himself about her, about her seeing him as something more than a way to get ahead. He swore under his breath hearing the bell that hung above the front-door of the restaurant jangle. Then he burst out laughing, relieved that she was gone.

"What a bitch," he muttered, as the waiter appeared and he smiled at him. "A grade-A bitch."

"Women, huh?" the waiter said, taking Aaron's credit-card.

"Yeah, women," he said. "Who needs 'em?"

Barry picked the blue wool blanket by the corner, pulling it back over Aaron. The couch barely contained his friend, this couch that he had paid twenty-five dollars for two years ago at a rummage sale. He smiled at the sight of Aaron's restful sleep and was tempted to touch his forehead, to gently brush the hair from his eyes. But he resisted the temptation, respecting his friend's vulnerability, even guarding it as he stood over him, pausing before he went to bed himself.

He had found Aaron sitting on the front-steps to his house when he got home from work. It was an unusually clear night. One of those nights that follow two or three days of strong wind and storm. Like the weather had blown itself out, leaving behind a clarity and calm. Aaron's long legs had stretched out before him on the porch as he leaned against the front door and stared at the sky, at the stars, at the first sliver of the new moon. Aaron did not look at him at first. But the smile had told him that Aaron knew he was there. He had been waiting for him.

-It's a beautiful night, Aaron had finally said. -I feel like I haven't seen the stars in years and years. It's good that they're still there.

-Of course they are, he had said, laughing gently. -Where would they go?

-Away.

-But where?

-Just away.

-Are you all right?

-I think I am.

-Did something happen?

-Yes and no.

-Are you being cryptic on purpose?

-No. But too clever I suppose. I'm sorry.

-Don't be.

-I've been waiting for you.

-Apparently.

-Do you mind?

-Why would I?

-I don't know.

He had stepped over Aaron then to unlock the door, smiling at his friend's noisy efforts to straighten himself and stand up. Despite its clarity, the night air was cold, and Aaron must have felt stiff for having sat there for what he had assumed was a fairly long time waiting for him to get home. He felt flattered, in spite of himself, and smiled as he suddenly thought of Aaron soaking in a bath, soothing his muscles, warming them. Then the image changed, and he was suddenly in the tub beside him, both of them together in the tub, laughing about something-but what? The imagined pressure of Aaron's warm wet skin against his own made him blush and laugh softly. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair to make the image in his mind go away.

-What's so funny? Aaron had asked, pulling the door closed behind him and then helping him off with his coat. -You're laughing about something-what?

-Yeah I was, had come his bashful reply, followed then by a change of subjects. -Do you want some coffee or something?

-No, Aaron had said. -I'm tired. Do you mind if I stay?

-I always like the company. Your company.

-And I like yours.

-We're a match then.

-I was thinking that.

-Have you been drinking?

-Not a drop. Why?

-I was just wondering.

-Wonderer.

-Yes.

They had shared some tea then, and Aaron had asked him to read to him. He had leaned against the couch with a book in his hand, holding it close to see. There was only meager light in the room, just barely enough. But with his glasses on he managed. The words on the page still managed to stand out. And he read aloud until Aaron's soft snores told him that he was asleep. He closed then the book and sat it on the floor next to the couch. Aaron's hand had at some point while the reading come to rest on his shoulder. He moved it gently up and off as he stood and turned around and placed Aaron's hand on the couch next to him. The blue wool blanket that he had minutes earlier pulled up over Aaron now covered that hand as he stood their regarding his friend.

"Good night Aaron," he said. "Sweet dreams."

"Then keeping it to yourself you are?"

"Tis me heart Da. Don't you thinking it's mine to be keeping?"

"Tis," Colin said, walking beside him through Waterfront Park. The river running past made a whispering sound, like children sharing secrets in a far-off room. The sun setting behind them made their shadows long, fallen silhouettes stretching out before them. Birds both far away and close sang songs that seemed remembered more than heard. Aaron's arm was slung loosely across Colin's shoulders as he listened to him speak, listening to the cajoling cadences of his voice.

"But saving it as much as keeping it to you might be too," Colin said. "Refusing to share ain't 't-all ta same thine as waitin' for one who be worthy of it you know?"

"Yes, might be."

"But don't keep it saved away for good A-bomb," Colin softly said. "It might feel like the answer, but it's not, you know."

"And so you say then, you who knows."

"Yes," Colin said. "And me who's right thinking that it's time to come in from the cold, it is so."

"Have you met someone?" Aaron said, stopping suddenly, turning to look at Colin, a hand on each shoulder, his eyes wide, and Colin staring back at him, a sly grin hanging to his lips, a smirk almost, but soft and kind. "Tell me Da, tell me so."

"Get on there with yourself," Colin said, smiling. "No one, no. Not really I don't think. But my eyes be opening, you could say."

"That's super Da, really super. Tis Tony I'm tippin'."

"Nah-get on with yourself."

"Well, have your secret Da," Aaron said, hugging Colin tighter, squeezing a wince and quick complaining sigh from him. "The truth will tell itself eventually."

"As it will with you'd I'd say," Colin laughed.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I got me eyes-that's all."

"Yeah, well...."

"I never liked her anyway."

"Stop Da-really."

"All right," Colin said. "It ain't worth the air to speak it anyway."

"I'm fine alone," Aaron said. "Me lesson learned there."

"Still, you might be keeping your eyes open yourself now, you know," Colin said. "And a right bit of your heart as well, since you don't want neither to be rusting shut."

"I'm only eighteen Da, jaysus."

"Ahh-an this from the lad who was crowing not less six months ago how he was all grown-up, a quick tune-changer you are."

"Yeah, well-"

"Yeah, well is right," Colin said, beginning to walk with Aaron again. "And to stay well is what I be wanting for you. Have you talked yet to James like I said?"

"No Da."

"It's about time you do."

Aaron nodded, staring straight ahead. The path they were on curved now to the left, city skyline in front of them, tall-building looking like pickets on a fence, the breeze behind them now, on their bare necks. It was cold.

"But you know that," Colin said. "I know you do."

"Well I guess it's official."

"What is?" Aaron said, looking up at Barry from the textbook he was reading.

"You got dumped," Barry said, tossing a magazine on the bar beside him. "She picked the 'Beau the bad-boy' over you it says, with nuptials soon to follow."

"Jaysus," Aaron said, rolling his eyes. "Spare me."

"They probably deserve each other anyway."

"They deserve something, that's for sure."

"As do you," Barry said, smiling as he shoved the magazine off the bar and into the trashcan behind it. "So what're you studying?"

"Some history class I'm taking this semester," Aaron said. "History of science."

"Paradigm shifts, and all that."

"Yeah," Aaron said, closing his book. "In fact, I was just reading about Kuhn and his-what's it called?"

"Evolutionary theory of science."

"Yeah, that's it."

"A series of peaceful interludes punctuated by intellectually violent revolutions."

"Maybe I should have you take the exam for me," Aaron laughed. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I read a lot," Barry said, shrugging nonchalantly. "And I have a curious mind. In case you hadn't noticed."

"No, I noticed," Aaron said, leaning forward on the counter and smiling up at Barry. "That and other great things about you."

"Well thank you," Barry said, smiling back. "You want some more soda?"

"Nah, I'm soda-ed out," Aaron said, closing his book and sliding it to one side. "But thank you."

"Sure-no problem," Barry said, raising his arms above his head and stretching. The movement pulled the bottom of his t-shirt up revealing the lower part of his stomach, which was smooth except for a hint of dark brown hair around his navel that trailed a few hairs at a time downward. Aaron could see he wasn't wearing boxers today, probably because there was laundry still waiting to be done. He smiled and reached toward Barry, then grasped the edge of his t-shirt between thumb and forefinger.

"So is that a new tattoo?" Aaron asked, lifting Barry's t-shirt up. "I don't think I've seen that one before."

"Yeah," Barry said, taking Aaron's hand and lifting it a few inches higher, showing him the entire tattoo. "You like?"

"It's cool," Aaron said. "What is it?"

"A sacred Hindu symbol-Om."

"Om."

"Yeah," Barry said. "It stands for oneness with the Supreme being, or existence. The merging of the physical with the spiritual. In the Upanishads - that's like the Hindu bible, kind of - Om is the sacred syllable, the basis of every sacred hymn. And the past, present, and future are all combined, transcended in this one sound."

"Wow-powerful stuff."

"I have a book all about it if you want to borrow it."

"Right on," Aaron said. "I'd love that."

"I got tomorrow off if want to stop by the house, and get" Barry said. "Or are you still super-busy? I know you got like five balls in the air you're juggling right now, with the shoot finally winding-up."

"Actually," Aaron said, comically wagging his head back and forth and smiling. "No class, no scenes, no nothing tomorrow. I'm a free man."

"So you want to hang together then?"

"I'd love to...oh, fuck!"

"What?"

"I told Jake we'd do something. It's like the nine month anniversary of our first meeting each other."

"Way to keep track."

"Nah, that's Jake's thing. Everything's symbolic to him."

"Well, if everything's symbolic, then nothing's real."

"Hmmm-I guess."

"So you and him an item now, I mean-now that Cameron's out of the picture?"

"Define item."

"Are you dating, seeing each other, going steady-I don't know. It's your thing."

"I'm giving it a shot I guess."

"Hard to shoot if you don't know what you're aiming for."

"Now you sound like my Dad."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Not at all."

"Okay-well, that's cool," Barry said. "Not that being in parent-mode is my usual gig, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," Aaron said, patting Barry on the arm. "And I appreciate that."

"You seem to have no shortage of parental units anyway."

"Tell me."

"Anyway-no worries about tomorrow. We can hang together another time."

"No, there are worries," Aaron said. "My worries. Because I really did want to do something with you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"You want to maybe come along and the three of us could do something?"

"I think I'll pass," Barry said, pushing back from the bar and taking a rag out of his back pocket. "I'm not really a group kind of guy."

"Not good at sharing, huh?"

"That'd be one way to put it."

"How about having me for half the day then," Aaron said, grabbing Barry's arm as he was about to walk away. He knew that it was nearly closing time and Barry hadn't done much clean-up yet. He sighed noisily as he stopped and let Aaron turn him around and looked at him. They were almost the same height, with Aaron not more than two inches taller. But Aaron was decidedly more muscular and athletic. He probably weighed at least thirty pounds more than Barry, who was lean with long arms and legs.

"But I don't mind sharing me," Aaron said. "Cutting me in half, splitting me down the middle, or whatever works for you. So how about you and me hanging out for half the day, and then I can hang with Jake the other half. I'm sure he won't mind."

"Having all of Aaron, for half a day."

"Yeah," Aaron said. "Which half do you want?"

"Of the day?"

"Yeah."

"Come by in the morning."

"Then why don't I just spend the night tonight?"

"You want to?"

"I do."

"Then we have a plan," Barry said. "Assuming you'll help me close."

"I thought you'd never ask," Aaron said, taking the keys that Barry handed him. "I'll lock up. And then we can get busy."

"I'm sorry," Jake said, with a small grimace. He was standing naked next to the bed, looking down at Aaron who had just awoken. "I had to finally say it."

Aaron yawned, although he tried to stifle it. And he continued to look up at Jake, trying not to let his still yawn-marred smile melt entirely from his face. He was not sure that he had heard correctly, not sure that he had heard Jake say what he thought that he had said, standing next to the bed, smiling at him.

"You're up," he said. Couldn't sleep?"

"I was thinking."

"I see."

"Did you hear me?"

"I'm not sure."

"That's what I thought."

Improbably, or so it seemed, there was early morning sun, and it seemed to glitter in Jake's eyes as he sidled back onto the bed, his long bare arm propping himself up so that his body tilted back at a strange angle, his long smooth legs stretching down toward the end of the bed, his ankles barely crossed. He wondered why he had not heard Jake wake up and get up out of bed; he usually did. But he must have noted the absence, eventually, because he was now awake. He wondered if it had been the missing arm across his chest, Jake holding on to him. Or the missing wheeze of breathing on the pillow next to him, the missing warmth that reminded him he was not alone in bed, not physically. What was it that he had finally missed-enough to wake up? Jake or just someone? A body next to him? He must have recognized the absence, but did he recognize it as Jake? Because waking he had been startled to find Jake standing there, reminded that, yes, that was what was gone, and that it had a name. "Jake," he whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes as he smiled and reached out to touch Jake's thigh, as if to make sure that he was not imagining this scene, that it was real, but real what?

Smiling sleepily, Aaron softly moaned and moved to make more room for Jake, who seemed suddenly too close to the edge of the bed. Jake slid over, his body making a rustling noise as skin rubbed against the bedspread making a noise that made Aaron think of dry leaves. His eyes closed as he tried to locate the source of this new image - an expanse of gray concrete, like an empty parking lot, and leaves scattered and blowing across it. He chased the leaves, laughing, trying to catch up to them, but the wind was too quick, and the leaves remained out of reach.

"What are you thinking?"

"What?" Aaron said, opening his eyes, seeing Jake's smile. It was still as radiant as he thought a smile could be, but vaguely artificial, and practiced. He recalled the first time he saw Jake smile, not quite ten months ago. He had stepped into Todd's office, and that smile was what had greeted him, put him immediately at ease, started him on the path to forging this new friendship, a friendship he had needed then, and probably needed still, a friendship with this man who had come to mean a lot to him, even though he could scarcely put it into words, how he felt, nor even really try. He had always trusted Jake's smile, because that seemed enough. Until now-with the remnants of the words Jake had spoken still hanging in the air like the smoke left behind blown-out candles.

"What are you thinking," Jake asked again. "You look so far away."

"I drifted off I guess."

"Not awake yet, maybe."

"Maybe not."

"Here-get back under the blankets," Aaron said. "You'll catch a chill." Jake looked at him, puzzled. But then there was that smile again, as if to say, Don't worry Aaron. Everything's okay.

"Come on," Aaron said, smiling dimly as he pulled the blanket and sheets back for Jake, and watched him crawled beneath them again. The coolness of Jake's skin startled him. He realized that Jake must have been out of bed for a while-thinking. That's what he'd said. He had got up and was thinking. But about what? Him?

"See, isn't that better?"

"It is," Jake said. "Much."

It took a minute more for them to settle, silently negotiating the position of arms and legs. While this happened, Aaron felt a growing unease, like before a school-exam that he knew hadn't studied for, or not studied enough.

For his part, Jake looked at him expectantly, plainly still waiting for a reply. And maybe it was his turn to speak, to offer an explanation, or what?. Saying something was complicated by the fact that he was still not sure what Jake had said, standing next to the bed before, looking at him. Had he been waiting for him to wake up? Rehearsing what he had to say to him-had said to him, and then waited for a reply. He decided to be honest. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I'm not sure what you said before. What did you say?"

"I said love you," Jake said, smiling. "And I do."

"Oh wow," Aaron said, aware that his face showed surprise even though he was not sure that he really felt it. As soon as Jake had repeated the words he was certain now that he had heard them the first time, and then - what? Pretended not to hear them? Had it just been an act?

"I don't know what to say."

"That's saying something I guess."

"What?" Aaron asked, squinting and shaking his head, embarrassed. "Because I didn't mean to make it seem like..."

"No-I know," Jake said. "I was just saying that admitting you don't know what to say is saying something. You're being honest."

"I hope so," Aaron said. "But I get the feeling that you want me to say I love you back. Not that that's why you told me but...you know."

"I just want you to say what you want to say. Nothing more, nothing less."

"What I want to say."

"Yeah," Jake nodded. "What you want to say."

"Thank you then," Aaron said, pressing his forehead against Jake's nose, gently squashing it, and then giving him a kiss. "Thank you for telling me how you feel."

"You're welcome," Jake said. "I'm glad I told you, because...I don't know-it just felt like not telling you would be a lie."

"A lie?" Aaron said, showing genuine surprise this time. "How?"

"Well-I've been thinking of what you told me about James, about how he never had the courage to tell you how he felt, that he loved you, and how that had hurt you and ruined your chance..."

"I never said that James lacked courage," Aaron said, cutting Jake off, bristling a little. "And I never would."

"But why wouldn't he have..."

"Look Jake," Aaron said, sliding himself up so that his shoulders rested against the headboard now, his arms crossed on his bare chest as he looked at Jake intently. "What happened between James and me is my story. Don't try to rewrite it to fit your needs, because it's not your story to tell."

Jake stared at Aaron in stunned silence, unable to speak, not knowing what to say. He stammered for a moment, more trying to catch his breath than speak. Finally he managed a quiet "I'm sorry" averting his eyes when he said it.

"No-don't be," Aaron said, regretting his anger. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's my issue - this whole, I don't know." He shook his head. "It just seems like everything is acting anymore. I'm not sure if anything I feel is real, or real enough. And without a script I'm useless. That's why I don't know what to say, because I'm not sure how I feel - about you or anything. I'm sorry. Does that make sense?"

"Not really."

"I guess that proves my point then," Aaron said. "Because it doesn't really make sense to me either."

"Why did you ask me to move into your room then?" Jake said, sitting up in bed, turning to face Aaron, his hand clasped in his lap, in the well of the blanket that sagged between his crossed legs. "Why have me sleep beside you every night, make love with you, if you weren't ever sure how you felt about me? Or am I just a convenient fuck like Cameron was? Is that it?"

"Is that what she was?" Aaron said, his tone impatient, edging toward sarcasm. "I was wondering about that. Thanks for clearing that up."

"Did anyone ever tell you that sarcasm was the protest of the weak?"

"Did anyone ever tell you that you should shut the fuck up?"

"Nice. Good one. Touché."

Aaron crossed his arms on his chest and glared at Jake, saying nothing. He half-expected Jake to get up out of bed, to pull his clothes on and leave. And he was ready to let him go, to watch wordlessly as yet another person walked out of his life. He would miss Jake, he knew. But he would not stop him. If he wanted to leave, so be it. And so he waited, exchanging a silent stare with Jake, whose smile had disappeared.

"You still love James, don't you?" Jake said, making not move to go. "That's what this is really about, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Aaron said, craning his neck to stare at the window, and the light filtering through sheer curtains. His view blurred and he realized that there were tears in his eyes, scalding tears, like those caused by pain not sadness.

"I don't know a fucking thing anymore," Aaron said, swallowing hard, trying not to sob. But his chest heaved, and his stomach soured. He felt suddenly like he might vomit. He could feel cold sweat on his forehead. Nothing felt right. Everything felt wrong. He wanted to jump from the bed and run from the room. Jake's hand on his arm, which it took a long moment to notice, felt vise-like and clammy. He wished he would let go, and be quiet for awhile. His words made no sense to him, even though he could hardly hear him. There were shouting thoughts in his head that seemed to drown out all normal sound, the sound of Jake saying, again and again, "Aaron-please don't cry."

But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stop crying. Even as Jake held him tight, patting his back, rubbing his hand up and down his spine, brushing the hair from his eyes, kissing his lips, whispering that everything would be all right, that he was there for him, that all he had to do was let him, that not everything needed to be so hard, that he just needed to relax and accept the love that was offered him, to not push people away just because they loved him, just because that there was no guarantee they might not leave. He sobbed silently as he listened to James words pour into his ear, listened until he found himself gasping and pulling back from Jake, staring into his eyes and saying "I want you to fuck me. Fuck me Jake. I know you want to. I want you to." He was kissing Jake now, pushing the words into Jake's mouth, one by one, like he was feeding him a series of pills, medicine he needed to take, something bitter and harsh but life-giving too.

"Not like this," he heard Jake say. "I want to, but not like this, unless you really need and want me to, then if you want...."

But then, less than a second after speaking, and less than a second after hearing Jake nearly agree to do what he had asked, perhaps even less that a second, he wanted all of his words back, regretted saying them. He gasped for the breath, gasped for the breath to say - "No, I didn't mean that. I don't really want you to. What's happening to me? What's happening to me? This is crazy."

Jake had held him until they both fell asleep, for several hours, waking at noon to order coffee and croissants delivered to the room. Neither ate much from the tray that sat on the room-service table between them, and what they did eat felt brittle and flavorless. Something had happened that neither understood, except to know that it was irrevocable, and that nothing between them would ever be the same again.

"I don't have to be on the set until noon today," Aaron said, putting down his coffee cup and looking at Jake. "Let's go to the zoo or something."

"That's fine," Jake smiled. "Anything you want."

Aaron paused and frowned. Jake looked puzzled but said nothing.

"What about what you want?" Aaron finally said. "What do you want to do?"

"Make love to you," Jake said, shrugging. "And then live happily ever after."

"Just like in the fairy-tales."

"Except none that I've ever read."

"I guess you're right."

"Anyway-it doesn't matter."

"What doesn't?"

"You don't love me. And that's okay."

"Why is it okay," Aaron said, unable to hide his impatience, and frustrated by how irritating Jake seemed to him right then, or still. He did not know why, but he had gone in that moment from wondering why he could not love Jake, could not ever love Jake, and feeling deep remorse for that, to almost hating him. Or was it himself he hated? It seemed cruel and unfair either way, yet the feeling was as intense to him as it was unmistakable. "Because you say it's okay?"

"No-I just mean, I don't know...never mind. It's stupid to even talk about it. You know we're going to drift apart as soon as shooting is over ...it is what it is."

"Fine," Aaron said, jabbing his finger into a croissant, making a jagged hole in it that crackled like dried paper as it tore open. "I'll take my shower then."

"Can I join you?"

"No," Aaron said, pursing his lips as soon as the word was said, as if he was intent on making sure no further words escaped. "I'd rather we laid off the play for a while, at least until we figure out what it is we're playing at."

"I guess I'll go then," Jake said, standing up. "Back to my room."

"I thought you checked out of it," Aaron said, pushing his chair back and standing up now too. He shook his head and put his hands on his hips. "That's what you said."

"It is what I said," Jake said flatly. "Just like I said I loved you. Just words."

"Nice," Aaron said, nodding slowly, a look of disgust forming slowly on his face. "Real nice."

"Not really," Jake said, shrugging. "But there you have it."

Jake glared at Aaron, his hands clasped in front of him in what seemed like an odd parody of prayer. He was not sure how this scene had come to be, or what his part in it had been or was. All he could think to say now was good-bye, and he was sure that once he had said it, the scene would be done, save perhaps for the closing of the door, which would be accomplished with so little noise that they'd be left with nothing to do but listen for a sound that never came. That was when the curtain would fall. Or was it?

"Is it because you're not gay," Jake said, his lower lip trembling. "Is that what all of this is? Because if it is, I think I understand."

"You're so eager to fucking understand," Aaron said, his hands falling from his hips, down beside his thighs, as if he had no energy left to let them do anything but dangle next to him. "I don't get it."

"Anyway," Jake said, turning away from Aaron, ready finally to say his good-bye, this time really, or almost. "Maybe we really should end this now, and stop pretending. I mean, why wait to figure out what we're playing at after all? I'm starting to feel like I'm trapped in a half-rate production of a Beckett play anyway."

"That's funny," Aaron said, stepping forward and touching his fingers to the back of Jake's neck, an instinctual gesture that reassured him somehow. More than most anyone that he had ever known, Jake had always had an unerring ability to make him laugh, to find a way to make the stress of confusion go away. If Jake had only ever been an escape to him, he realized with real gratitude now that he had been a good one, and a genuine one. Then he found himself laughing, or laughing harder, as Jake adopted a comic pose and recited remembered dialogue with a look of mock pretension.

"Let's go," he said in a ridiculously deep voice.

"We can't," he said, this time in a high, squeaky timbre.

"Why not?"

"We're waiting for Godot."

"Will Aaron do?"

"He must."

"Come here," Aaron said, pulling Jake toward him, looking into his wet eyes, feeling guilty but suddenly at ease all the same. "Please Jake."

"What?" Jake said, his lips a moist pout that Aaron bent to kiss and did. "A kiss good bye and then what? I'm on my way?"

"Was that from the play too?"

"What play?"

"The half-rate Beckett you were just reciting."

"No-it was from a Carpenters song," Jake said smiling and running his hand through his hair, then smelling the tips of his fingers and scratching his nose. "I always rely on the wisdom of Saint Karen in times of personal distress."

"Does that mean I can eat the rest of your croissants?"

"Now look who's being funny," Jake said, pointing at Aaron, grateful for his smile, and the levity that they had together added to the tone of their conversation. He didn't want to fight anymore, or exchange more sad or angry words. He wanted to stay friends, real friends, and he hoped that Aaron felt the same way too.

"Okay, so how come you know lines from Waiting for Godot?"

"I directed it for my senior theater project at USC."

"I bet you got an A," Aaron said, his arms around Jake now. "Didn't you?"

"B-minus, actually," Jake said, pursing his lips and shrugging. "But only because I unwisely insisted on starring in it too. I suck as an actor-truly."

"I'm sure you still deserved an A."

"I'd like to think so," Jake said, looking up at him. "But it wouldn't be true."

"All right," Aaron said, nodding slowly, his forehead creasing, as if in thought. He then said nothing for a few moments, his eyes drifting slowly to the window, finding the light fading there. Somehow he knew that the sun that had been there earlier, behind Jake as he had stood at the edge of the bed waiting for him to awake, light that had for a few moments been a glimmer of brighter possibility, would no longer be there. And as he saw that it wasn't, he suddenly wished that he could have this already half-done day back again, that he would have told Jake that he loved him too, and that they would have made love, and embarked on something better than the greater unknown they seemed to now stand on the brink of. It was almost as if he could hear Todd in the distance yelling "CUT " in the background and barging on to the set to demand that they do the scene again, to this time get it right. But how did you know whether you had gotten something right, except in retrospect, except when looking back and tracing the path taken, seeing where it had led. He had refused to follow Jake's lead, but not entirely - surely not entirely. There was still plenty of room in his life for him, and in his heart as well. He would not allow yet one more person get away from him.

"Can we still be friends?" Aaron said, his voice cracking and unsteady. "Because I really don't want to lose you. No matter what I said before, you're too important to me to let you go. Please be my friend-okay?'

"Of course I will," Jake said. "Even though I'd rather be your boyfriend."

"I know," Jake said, taking a deep breath. "In that fairy-tale no one ever wrote."

"We could write it-together we could."

"It's nice to think so."

"Actually, it's not, not if it's not really going to happen."

"There's always tomorrow Jake. It's not like anything is suddenly set in stone."

"Isn't it?"

"I don't think so."

"I guess I don't have your imagination then," Jake said, shrugging. "Or your acting ability."

"Jake-I never pretended with you. I wasn't acting."

"Does it matter?"

"Doesn't it?"

"I'm not sure it does."

"Well it does to me," Aaron said, kissing Jake again. "Regardless."

"I should tell you something then."

"What?"

"I really did check out of my room."

"You did?"

"I did," Jake said, his voice a whisper. "I was lying before."

"And so where do you think you were headed," Aaron said, beginning to laugh. "To Cameron's room?"

"Well-you never know," Jake said, laughing too. "I'm sure we could find a thing or two to talk about."

"Oh yeah," Aaron said, laughing harder now and hugging Jake tightly. "I'm sure you could. I'm sure you could. But then that's another story entirely."

"Probably not worth telling though."

"True."

"I'm going to write a story though," Jake said after being silent for a moment, and looking into Aaron's eyes. "A story about two boys that fall in love and live happily ever after. A story true and real and sad and scary and full of faith and pride."

"And what are you going to do with that story, once it's written I mean."

"I'll make it into a movie, with you as the star."

"I'm not sure I'll ever make another movie Jake, to tell you the truth."

"I guess we'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

"I guess we will."

"Sounds more like second-rate Brecht than Beckett, but that's just me."

"Brecht?"

"The other pillar of modern-theater."

"Did you swallow an encyclopedia when you were a kid?"

"Funny."

"Anyway," Aaron said, shrugging slightly as he sat on the couch, his coat folded on his lap. He had just taken it off after having already been there a half hour. It wasn't that he'd been cold. He'd just forgotten that he was still wearing it. "It was all a bit too full of drama no matter who was writing the dialogue."

"So will you stay friends," Barry asked, looking up at Aaron from where he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. "Or fuck-buddies, or what?"

"Don't be nasty."

"I'm not," Barry said. "I'm serious."

"Why? Would you be jealous?"

"If you were still fucking him?"

"Yeah."

"Why would I be?" Barry said, his forehead furrowing. "I wasn't jealous when you were fucking him before, so don't stop fucking him on my account."

"You have a very strange way of flirting," Aaron said, smiling slowly. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Nope," Barry said. "Never. But then, I don't flirt."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Disappointed?"

"Kind of."

"Well don't be," Barry said, stretching his legs out in front of him so that his feet now rested against the bottom of the couch. "Flirting is a fool's game."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because if you want something, you should ask for it."

"Brave talk for someone who apparently has never had a boyfriend."

"You don't know that," Barry said. "Do you?"

"I guess not," Aaron said, blushing and looking away. "But-I don't know, it just seems like you're not the most available guy."

"I could say the same thing about you too."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Barry said, shaking his head. "Forget it."

"No-tell me."

Aaron stared at Barry expectantly, waiting for his answer. Barry said nothing and a minute passed, too slowly it seemed, proving once more time's elasticity. There was nothing, Aaron thought, that a single minute could not encompass, or entrap. He fought the urge to glance at his watch. He did not need to know what time it was. He had plenty of time before he needed to be on the set, two hours at least. Still, looking at his watch had always been a reassuring tic, a habit that people noticed. "Do you need to leave, to be somewhere," they would ask, their voice uncertain. "Oh no," he'd the say, a little embarrassed at being what felt like caught. "I was just seeing what time it was."

"So you going to stick around for a while," Barry said, breaking the silence that had held them stuck in that long minute together. Aaron frowned as he watched Barry slowly stand up, meeting Barry's blank gaze with his own look of puzzlement. It was obvious to him that Barry had no intention of explaining what he had meant a moment ago, perhaps because he couldn't, but Aaron didn't think so. "Or do you have to get back to the set or something?"

"I have an hour and a half or so," Aaron said, deciding to let the issue pass. He'd had enough of serious talk in any event, and now welcomed the chance to move on to other things. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I could give you your birthday present."

"Dude that was over a month ago," Aaron laughed.

"Yeah, well for one I didn't know," Barry said. "Since you didn't tell me."

"I like keeping my B-day on the down-low," Aaron said, giving Barry a sheepish grin. "I don't like people to make a fuss."

"I bet you had major production birthdays as a kid."

"Oh gawd-you would not believe," Aaron said, laughing. "It was cool though. My Dads loved it. And I guess I did too."

"My mom always took me to a movie for my birthday."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it was great," Barry said. "She'd take a day off work, and we'd hit a matinee. Anything I wanted to see. Then after we'd go for ice-cream or something and just talk. She always worked so much I really liked just having the time alone with her."

"Do you miss her?"

"I miss her from then," Barry said. "From when before she was sick."

"I've never had anyone I really loved die before."

"It sucks," Barry said, his voice so nonchalant it hurt somehow to hear it. "And you never really get over it, despite what people say."

"I imagine," Aaron said, studying Barry's face, how his soft brown eyes glowed like illuminated amber, flickering almost. "But I don't really know, having not actually lived through it - so to speak."

"Well it is what it is," Barry said, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. Aaron smiled watching him. "Do you want some lunch?"

"What about my present?"

"Ahh-that can wait," Barry laughed. "You know what it is anyway."

"Let me guess-Keats again."

"See," Barry said, pointing. "The Psychic speaks."

"I was hoping you might buy me another copy."

"And so I did."

Aaron nodded his head like an eager child might, and clapped his hands together. Barry laughed seeing him, and then plodded barefoot from the room.

The wood floor creaked and groaned with each step Barry took. He was about to follow Barry into the kitchen but paused for a moment first and stared at the slats of wood that made up the floor. He remembered the room that Sam had shown him at Duncan-Doulay House, the wood-slats there, and all the love-letters beneath. He had spoken to no one about the details of his trip to Seattle, except in the vaguest of generalities. He had told himself that those three days in Seattle had been his alone, and not something he wanted to casually share. But suddenly, standing there, staring at the wood floor that Barry must have walked across thousands of time, he knew that he wanted to tell him about his weekend in Seattle, all that he had learned there, the story of Blair Duncan and Jeremy Doulay, and how it had haunted him, and haunted him still. Somehow he knew that Barry would understand how he felt, and help him to understand his feelings better. Bursting into the kitchen he stopped at Barry turned around smiled at him, a metal spatula in his hand like a kind of scepter.

"How about grilled cheese sandwiches?" Barry said. "I make a pretty mean grilled cheese sandwich."

"No frigging way," Aaron said, caught of guard, laughing. "I love grilled cheese sandwiches!"

"Well, you ain't lived until you had a Barry super-cheese special."

"Barry man, you're making me slobber," Aaron said, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Stop."

"The key is two cheeses," Barry said, punching Aaron back, and whispering like he was telling him a secret. "Two is the magic number."

"Cheddar and swiss?"

"Yup-cheddar and swiss. That's it exactly."

"Just like my Dad," Aaron said. "But he adds tomatoes."

"Wise man, your Dad. You've got to have tomatoes too."

Aaron stared at Barry, his mouth falling open, his head tilting to one side, as if suddenly remembering something, something from long ago and important. Barry smiled at him, waiting, knowing that Aaron had something to say. He could see it in his eyes, and in the way his lips seemed about to move. But Aaron stayed silent, only staring, only breathing, so slowly you could hardly see it. But Barry could see it, and hear it too, each breath growing louder, and deeper, until suddenly he was breathing with him, each breath his as well, shared as Aaron kissed him, slowly kissed him, involving him in his arms, encircling him, holding him, refusing to let go against Barry's minor soon-subsiding struggle, as he found himself kissing Aaron back, and falling prayer-like to his knees, which in tandem hit the floor with a bass-drum thud, the two of them kneeling now, face to face, joined in a gasp that would not let them go, until finally Barry leaned back, away from Aaron, and stared, watching Aaron blink, and his eyes fill with tears.

"Don't cry," he said, holding Aaron's face, a hand on each cheek, his thumbs beneath his chin, a cradle for it. He could feel soft-stubble. Aaron had skipped shaving. He looked older than his nineteen years, older than Barry had noticed before, and he wondered when and how this had happened. Perhaps just now. He wanted to kiss Aaron again, but he waited, expecting Aaron to speak again. And then he did.

"You're the one I want," he said. "That I really want. I want you Barry. All along I have and never said it, or even maybe knew it, until now."

"And you said it."

"How could I not have known?" Aaron said, his voice low and frantic. "Not have known and said it? How could that be possible?"

"There's no way to answer questions like that," Barry said softly, his lips as close to Aaron as they could be without it being a kiss. "So I won't even try."

"I wish you could say it too," Aaron whispered as Barry listened, feeling as if he was swallowing Aaron's words and it was like he was speaking to him from inside his chest. He felt Aaron there, inside him. Barry smiled and Aaron smiled back. Their eyes glassy with tears, mirror-like, each reflecting the other. "I do."

Aaron swallowed hard, stood up, and slowly stepped back. His hands nervously found his hips, his belt-loops, and then his back pockets. He seemed to sway like a tree in the wind. Barry could not take his eyes off him, the way he stared back at him with a look of pleading and fear. It was obvious that he wanted to say something, but what more could he say, he had said the one thing he had meant to.

"I don't think I can stay here for the rest of the semester, as roommates or whatever, and not..."

"And not what?"

"Fall in love with you."

"Fall in love me?"

"Yes."

"What an awful thing to have happen," Barry said, trying for levity, but having it catch in his throat. He stood up, ashamed of his joking tone just then, and the fear that had motivated it. "But...wait. Aaron-Are you serious?"

"Yes I'm serious," Aaron said. "As serious as I've ever been in my life, as I ever may be again."

"Serious," Barry slowly said, letting Aaron help him up from where he had still been kneeling on the floor. Aaron's hand slid down Barry's forearm once he was standing, slid until it reached Barry's hand. He grasped it and would not let go, stopping Barry from backing up any more, from getting further away from him. "Serious is good, but honest and true is more important. So please don't...."

"I don't want things to just work out anymore," Aaron said, his voice deepening, his shoulders sharply back. He seemed to expand as he spoke, to grow taller, broader, more certain. "I want more than that. I want you."

"You do."

"Yes, I do," Aaron said. "And I want us to be together."

"So do I, actually," Barry said. "So do I."

"And I want to kiss you again," Aaron said, tears welling once more in his eyes. "Like before I did."

"And mean it."

"Like before I meant it."

"And mean it again."

"Yes."

"And if I say no?"

"I'll kiss you anyway," Aaron said, pulling Barry toward him, his hands finding the small of Barry's back. "Because I want to. And because I need you."

Barry did not wait for Aaron to kiss him. He kissed him first himself, a kiss that lasted for a time longer than either of them had imagined a kiss like that could last. a kiss as fresh and as full of promise as anything he could imagine, making even an eloquent comparison to spring a bitter cliché. No metaphor could capture this; it could be lived alone, experienced and felt, this kiss.

And when the kiss was over, the kiss and all that came after, the afternoon had become evening, full of blinking stars unseen, but not unknown. Aaron more than five hours late to the set, but he didn't care. Here he was not acting, and that was what mattered. He had fallen asleep with Barry beside him, as undressed Barry was, naked together lying on a blue blanket they had spread across the living room floor, a blanket that would become for them more than a souvenir; it would become that day an heirloom, an heirloom for generations not yet conceived, nor even imagined. The blanket held the beginning of their family, and on that night they knew it, and held each other as if neither intended to ever let the other go, until forced to by death, and perhaps not even then.

The party had started hours ago. But at the last minute, he had decided not to go. Aaron knew that it was probably winding down, and that everyone would wonder where he was. He did not care for missing it. He did not care at all. Filming was over, finally. Being an actor was over, finally. Pretending he was someone that he was not was over, finally. What that left him though, he did not know. There was a lot he did not know. A lot he had still to learn. But now at least he was not alone. He had a warrior by his side.

It was late February and hoarfrost clung to the tree branches and sparkled like diamonds. He had come to the river again, to sit beside the path he had run on nearly every day, ever longer, the crush of gravel noisy, drowning out his thoughts.

The water whispered like it always had, giving up secrets he did not understand. Still he listened, respecting the onrushing movement of water, its steadiness, the darkness deep, the intrigue of shadows that played across the surface, the mysteries beneath, pulled by prehistoric currents, over ancient soil and rock.

Ghostly long-boats slide silently by, long-gone warriors pressing paddles deep in the water, Barry's noble ancestors pulling leaning forward disappearing into the mist of another time, their proud painted faces gone, the hunt begun again.

Later followed explorers, Lewis and Clark and others, hearty intruders into the then unknown, finding in the shadowed country land on which to expand a nation, a people, one nation, one people, displacing another, that deemed new pushing that deemed old into an inevitable past. The rise of civilization, without any sense of irony at all.

He saw James driving straight ahead, the car his blazing chariot, and Ryan beside him, intrepid and faithful, both of them brave. He saw his father walk across a room that might as well have been as wide as an ocean, and discover on the other side more riches than it was possible to possess. He saw his father holding him for the first time, afraid to fail but never failing once. And then he saw himself, crossing a playground to defend a fallen friend. He was brave once too, once so long ago. Now he would be brave again.

He imagined the sweep of time, like the river-flowing before him. He considered the sweep of the last six months, the current that had carried him from one place to another and then finally here. Rain misted his face as he waited. And soon the stars appeared. He found Orion, the North Star, and smiled at its steadfastness.

Standing, he looked inside his hand again, the hand he'd had carefully closed. In it still rested a scrap of paper, creased and brittle, held together by tape. Aaron unfolded it thinking of treasure maps and hidden clues, the key to solving some mystery everyone but Lance had thought could not be solved. He had given him this on his way back to Paris, stopping in Portland for that reason alone.

"You'll need this soon," he had said, giving it to him. "Like I did once too."

He read the words again, for the third time tonight.

It doesn't matter how good you act. What matters is how good you are. And you are good. Don't ever forget that.

~ JOEY

And with him then were only memories, as along the riverrun, past.

1 This was the last sonnet Keats wrote before dying.