Silver Hill

Romance, maybe--no sex, or just a smidgen. Fiction, far as I know. Enjoy and play safe! And put out for Nifty! (Shame on you! Dirty mind!)

Authors retain rights and title to their works.

Silver Hill

He was dust-covered, almost a uniform brownish gray, with stringy, wind-tangled hair, and at least two shirts under an oversized brown canvas jacket and a backpack. I could tell he was whipped.

I pulled over. It was spring, and the foehn winds had been blowing almost non-stop, covering him, and my truck, and everything I could see with that same brownish-gray dust, smothering the buds on the trees and the sparse growth on the ground. Eddies of dust washed across the road, a two-lane, arrow-straight asphalt strip that seemed endless as far as you could follow it in either direction. There was nothing here, had been nothing since I pulled out of the gas station thirty miles back, with a bag full of mints and a cola. Lunch.

He climbed into the truck. "Thanks."

"Looks like you've been out there for a while."

"Yeah."

"Where you headed?" I asked.

"California."

"Long ways yet."

"I'm still going. How about you? Where are you going?"

"Silver Hill. About two hours ahead."

"What's in Silver Hill?"

"Motel. Gas, maybe some decent food, maybe some beer. Regular New York City!"

He looked out of the window. "Why the fuck would anyone want to live out--sorry. You live in Silver Hill, I suppose."

"No--found it with a pin."

"A pin?"

"Stabbed a map with it."

"So...why? Or should I shut up?"

"Ever wanted to get to the middle of nowhere?"

"More nowhere than this?"

"More nowhere than anywhere. Seemed like a good place to...clear my head, maybe." The kid was quiet. "You hungry?"

"Fuck, yeah!"

"Help yourself." I passed the bag of mints to him. "There's another can of pop between the seats, here."

"Hey, thanks." At least the pop wasn't that diet crap.

"Name's Jack," I offered, when he had finished half the bag of mints and all of the pop. "You?"

"Rollo. I hate it."

"So change it. You look like, let's see, Vince. Want to be Vince?"

Rollo thought about that for a few seconds, ran it across his lips. "Vince, huh? Okay." He finished off the mints. The truck kept going without seeming to get anywhere. "You give everybody new names?"

"Not if they like the ones they've got. What's in California?"

"I don't know. Job, I hope. People I can...people."

"No people where you're from?"

Vince was quiet for a moment. "Not the kind I need, I guess," he said, finally. "You get born into a place, doesn't mean you have to stay there."

"Family?"

"Fuck family," he snapped.

"Little angry, there?"

"Threw me out when I was sixteen, because---just because."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen. Been living in that shithole for almost two years, waiting to be old enough to just...leave."

"What kind of work you do?"

"Anything you got. Anything."

Something about the way he repeated "anything" waved a flag, like he was hinting at something. "How much education you got?"

"High school. Not really, though." When I didn't ask for details, he provided them. "Dropped out. Nobody gave a damn. Almost finished, though. It's just...they didn't want me there."

"Who didn't want--"

"Nobody. No-fucking-body. Morally unfit, that's me."

"Huh." What the hell does "morally unfit" mean, I wondered. Kid was like a zit, ready to pop. I just had to figure out where to squeeze. "Says who?"

"The goddamn guidance counselor, that's who. Supposed to help you, and he booted me out of school for...kicked me out 'cause I was homeless, officially. But not really. I mean, that wasn't the real reason."

"Kicking someone out of school for being homeless sounds fucked up, if you ask me."

"Damn right! But then the real reason got out--confidentiality, my ass. I know damn well it was him who told everyone that I was queer--" He stopped, gasping as if he could pull the word back into his mouth.

"That's fucked. I knew some gay guys in the Army. They were cool."

"You didn't beat the shit out of them? Or report them to some general, or whoever?"

"Why? They offered, I accepted: all fair. Live and let live."

I stared at the yellow lines that kept throwing themselves under the truck, and there was nothing but the soft hum of the engine to listen to, and nothing to see. It got to Vince, at last, and he started talking, staring all the while at the glove compartment. "There was this guy, Dennis, kept looking at me. A jock, one of those guys who runs the show in school, football player. You know?" He didn't wait for an answer. "All blond and pretty and built and if you saw him late in the day he had this little beard, almost. He was a senior. And he kept looking at me. Blue eyes. And one day, he was in the bathroom and I came in, and he smiled, and said his name was Dennis and he'd seen me around and he was wondering who I was. I told him my name, and he smiled again and said he never had a blow job and he really wanted to try it and did I know anyone who...so we ducked into a stall and I sat on the john and he...I don't know who was in charge: some days he'd just pound his cock down my throat and some days I sucked him like... Got to be a thing, every Thursday." He lapsed into silence.

"And?" I prompted.

Vince turned to me and I thought for a moment he was going to attack, or something, like he was rabid. But then he started talking again, through gritted teeth. "In the can one day he just grabs me and slams my head against the wall and hits me in the gut and the flush thing is digging into my back. And he looks all fuzzy and I puke and he's gone and the floor's all slimy with blood and puke and I just run, slipping and stumbling and I don't stop until I'm two blocks from school and my lungs hurt so much and I fell down into some bushes." He stopped, gasping for breath. "And I must have passed out, because it was dark when I got back on my feet."

He kept looking at me, and a few moments passed in silence. At last, he turned back to the glove compartment and spoke. "You need any...like I said, I do anything."

"I got a blow job from a couple of guys, a few times. Liked it, but it was...overseas, combat, maybe dead tomorrow, so why not. You do shit like that when you wake up to dying every day."

More silence from Vince for a few minutes, then, "So I guess, if I can get to California, I can find...work."

"Hustling, you mean?"

"Guy's gotta eat."

"Amen to that, Vince." We settled into another long silence; he drifted off to sleep, and the road kept on through empty, dust-covered land. No wonder Vince fell asleep: it was hard for me to keep awake in this endless--"Hey! Hang on!"

Started, Vince woke. "Huh?"

"There's the road to Silver Hill. Big intersection ahead." I slowed down and took the turn. The truck bounced from the asphalt to dirt.

"You call this a road?"

"Main road to Silver Hill. Only road to Silver Hill, according to the map. Far as I know, the only road in Silver Hill." I pointed to a dust-covered sign: "Welcome to Silver Hill." Ahead, the pavement rose a little and turned, then dropped into an island of cottonwoods. The truck gave another bounce, and we were on pavement, sort of. The gas station was ahead of us, and just beyond, a motel with a neon sign that said "estauran." "Nothing gourmet here, I'm afraid. Supper's on me."

I gassed the truck and we went to the motel, and I got us a room. We both showered, and Vince came out looking pretty respectable. I wasn't sure if he looked queer, or if I was just putting that on him because I knew. With the guys in the Army, you couldn't tell, unless you knew, and I didn't, until they came on to me and I knew. Funny how that works.

We got dressed and went to the estauran. Handful of tables with little plastic flower centerpieces, and a counter.

"Sit wherever," the woman behind the counter said. "Coffee's fresh."

"We'll take a table for two," I answered, in a manner that parodied snobs, and pointed to one near the window. "Don't suppose you serve cocktails."

"You kidding? Most nights, that's all we serve. Name your poison."

"Gin and tonic for me." I turned to Vince. "What can I get you?"

"Same, I guess." He leaned toward me and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I ain't got an ID."

"One step at a time," I replied. "Make it two gin and tonics, please."

"Coming up. You going to want dinner, or something?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll bring you a menu, soon's I get the drinks."

I looked at Vince. "After dinner and a decent night's sleep, I'll run you back to the highway. I'm going to stay here a while."

"Waitress turn you on?"

"Nope. And that's why I'm staying. I don't need the distraction."

"Here you go, fellas: two gin and tonics, and two menus. We're out of fish."

"Good," I said to myself. "Thanks," I said to her. "Whatever you want, Vince," I said to Vince.

He glanced at the menu. "Steak okay?"

"Whatever you want."

I turned to the waitress. "The special, please--or am I committing suicide? And steak for my friend."

The waitress grunted. "The chicken Normandy's actually not bad. How do you want your steak, Sir?"

"Rare. Please."

"Both of 'em come with salad. We got French, blue cheese, and Italian. And vinegar and oil."

"Italian, please," Vince said.

"Same here."

"Coming up."

The waitress went back behind the counter, clipped our order onto an otherwise empty carousel, and rang the little bell.

"What does that mean, 'clear your head'?" Vince saw the puzzled look on my face. "Back there on the road you said you were coming here to clear your head. What did you mean?"

"I get...every once in a while...it's complicated, but I get fucked up."

"Like with booze?" Vince frowned, nodding at my drink.

"No, it's different. I get...I guess you could say I'm haunted."

"Huh? You mean like you've got a ghost?"

"Sort of. Or maybe I am one, I don't know. Let's talk about something else. You, maybe."

"I told you. I'm eighteen, I'm queer, I got kicked out, I'm going to California. The end."

The waitress broke the awkward silence with silverware and napkins. "Here's your salads, fellas."

"Thanks," I said.

Vince said, "Thank you, Ma'am" at the same time, and the waitress gave him a dirty look.

"He's says that to all the ladies. Polite," I offered quickly, smiling.

The waitress snorted and turned away.

"What'd I do?" Vince asked. "Was that rude, or something?"

"Some folks think 'Ma'am' equals old lady."

"We had to call all the teachers 'Ma'am.' The lady teachers. Of course, they were old."

"Don't worry about it."

Vince attacked the salad. "What's chicken Normandy?"

I shrugged. "No idea. But it's chicken. Hard to ruin chicken."

Vince's salad quickly disappeared. "I really appreciate this, Jack."

"No problem, Vince." I was the same age as Vince when I went into the Army, dumb as they come. Felt dumber when I got to Iraq, combat infantry. Would have asked for my money back, if it was a movie-- theater of war, right? Would have left, even if they wouldn't give me a refund. But it wasn't, and they didn't, and there were guys younger than Vince and older than me, and I got to know that they were wondering why the Hell they were there, just like me. Shouldn't have picked a table so fucking close to a window!

"Here we are, fellas. Steak, and chicken Normandy."

"Thanks," I said. Vince stared at his plate like he'd never eaten food before. The waitress went back to the counter.

Vince grabbed the steak knife and the fork and jumped into action. He ate my potato as well as his own, and even half of my vegetables. Chicken Normandy turned out to be chicken cooked in apples and stuff, with a cream sauce. I think it was good. I don't have any other chicken Normandy to compare it to, though. Vince had a slice of apple pie for dessert. I felt stuffed. Maybe it was from watching him put all that food away. I ordered a brandy, anyhow.

Our room had two beds. I stripped and slipped into mine. "You have to be quiet, out here. Don't want anyone to know--"

Vince said something.

"Shh!"...just very quiet. Real still.

Footsteps.

Don't move, hell, don't even breathe, if you can help it. Sometimes, hajis shoot up the corpses anyway, but maybe, if I'm really quiet, really still...just listen...

"Jack?"

Don't move. Don't know the voice. Corpses can't hear, anyway.

"Jack?"

Damn haji can see my pulse, I bet! Where the fuck's my pistol? Only chance is to roll into him and try to knock him over. Now!

"Hey, man! What the fuck?"

I do know this guy. What am I doing on a floor? Next to a bed. In a motel room. Oh, fuck! Not again. I sat up, slowly. Vince was sitting on the floor against the other bed, looking dazed. "You have a dream, or something, Jack? A nightmare?"

"Huh?"

"You were lying there, and I was wondering...and then you said something about being quiet, and then it looked like you were paralyzed or something, and then all of a sudden you just rolled off the bed and knocked me on my ass. What the fuck was that?"

"Yeah. A nightmare. Sorry. You okay?"

"Mostly scared. It was like you exploded, maybe, or something."

"It was nothing. What did you want?" Vince looked baffled. "You said you were wondering about something, right?"

"Oh! It's nothing. I just...nothing."

"Come on, Vince! Talk!"

Vince took a huge breath. "I was just wondering if...if you wanted me to pay you back, sort of."

"Huh?"

"Sex?"

"You don't owe me anything, Vince. I like the company."

"You said you were going to stay here for a couple of days. Why?"

"Long story."

Vince got off the floor and flopped onto his bed, rolled on his side and looked into my eyes. "Tell me a story," he challenged.

My first impulse was to tell him to fuck off, but something--could have been his eyes, or the brandy, made me start talking. "Okay, but...I..." Maybe that's what Confession's like, for Catholics. I got onto my bed, facing him. "There was this jeep, and four of us in it and it blew up and I was the only one who survived. Three guys got blown to bits, and I got out with some scratches."

"Then what?"

"Time... got all funny. And it was like earplugs, or something. I couldn't hear a damn thing. And the other guys--" And suddenly, I was yelling. "What kind of a lousy asshole god does shit like that? Why not me? There was a kid in that Jeep with a kid of his own back in the states." I got my voice under control, realized that Vince hadn't moved a muscle. I looked at him, pleading. "And one of the other guys only joined up so he could use the GI bill for school--he was going to be an architect." I rolled onto my back. "You should have seen the shit he drew. Some guys took pictures, he drew. He drew each of us, even." I rolled back to face Vince. "And Willie--black guy, funniest man I ever met. Damn good shot, too, and he didn't take shit from anyone. Told our CO to go to hell, once. Got busted to Private for it, didn't give a good goddamn. More balls than any other two guys in the unit." And I was furious, again. "What right did I have to survive, instead of them? Tell me that, Rollo--tell me what right I have to be alive if they're not!"

Rollo--Vince was on his feet, backing away from me. I just stared at him: I couldn't move.

"Look, Jack...I think I'll maybe sleep outside, or something. You need to rest, I think."

"Don't go," I whispered. "Please don't go." And it was like I was somewhere else--the ceiling, or somewhere--watching myself. Watching Vince watch me curled up on the bed, crying.

"You got one of those pissydee's?" Vince asked, eyes wide.

"Huh?"

"Like soldiers get sometimes where they freak out: a pissydee."

I turned the word over a few times, until I got it. "PTSD, you mean?" He nodded. "Fuck, no! What makes you--?"

"You just suddenly started talking about being quiet. Don't you remember?"

Yeah. I remembered. How the fuck could I forget? "Yeah," I whispered.

Rollo walked over to me and sat on the bed next to me. He wrapped his arms around me and there was another body against mine for the first time in years. "Jack," he whispered into my ear, "what were their names? The guys in the jeep. I remember Willie, and the artist, and the guy with the kid."

"The guy with the kid was Bruce. Just got in maybe a week earlier. The artist--the architect's name was Vincent. Like Vincent van Gogh. He hated that. Said it was like taking away his name, taking away who he was. So if anyone called him Vincent van Gogh, I just said he was better than van Gogh. Guys didn't argue. Hell, most of them didn't know beans about van Gogh. So Vince and I..."

"Had sex?" I nodded. "Made love?"

I nodded again. "It was...two guys, stuck in Hell, sort of hanging on to each other like a little slice of sanity." I laughed. "So you know how crazy the rest of it was."

"Do I really look like that Vince?"

I studied Rollo for a minute. "Sort...the eyes, maybe. And the neck, maybe. But that's not why..." I stopped. Maybe it was.

"This guy picked me up," Rollo said, "and we talked for a while and then he said he wanted me to...he wanted sex, so we pulled over and he made me take my clothes off, which okay, cool, but then he locked them in the car and got these ropes out of the trunk and tied me up with my hands all next to my feet and...I was so fucking scared...I was on my back and he's sort of blocking the sky, and then he put this plastic bag over my head and tied it and started fucking my ass and I tried--I--he was killing me, for chrissakes!--there was nothing I could do so I screamed and he got this scary smile, and his eyes...he fucked me and there wasn't any air and I passed out and woke up in a ditch with my clothes piled on top of me. I think he thought I was dead, maybe. I didn't know where I was or anything. He took my money and my ID and shit. I just wandered around until I found a road and when the sun came up I walked away from it because I figured that was the way west, and...

We looked at each other, and recognized the terror in our eyes and just held each other until we finally, mercifully fell asleep.

When I woke up in the morning there was orange juice and coffee on the nightstand. "Hope you don't mind," Rollo said, too brightly. "I charged it to the room. I figured you'd need it."

"Vince! Wow, man--"

"Call me Rollo. It's my name."

"Um, okay. Rollo. Thanks." I drank the orange juice. "You want breakfast?"

"Is that...I mean, I don't want...Can you afford it?"

I shrugged. "I'm rolling in dough, kid. Saved up a bunch while I was over there--bought the truck, and I still got plenty. Thought I'd just drink and fuck myself to death. Tried it for a week, maybe, then...Here I am."

"I feel like I'm taking advantage--"

"Wow! An ethical hustler--sorry! That was a shitty thing to say. Let me get a shower and we'll go...Rollo?"

"You better just run me back to the highway, like you said. La's out there, somewhere."

"La?"

"Los Angeles. I figured that's my best shot. Lots of...business out there."

"Rollo? Hey, I'm sorry. I'm not awake yet! Give a guy a break!"

"I should have emptied your wallet and split, huh?" He said it like maybe he'd failed a test, or something- -better luck next time.

"You want the rest of my cash?" I shrugged. "Leave me enough to pay for the room and some food, and we're cool."

"Yeah. Okay, sure. If that's...Thanks for the ride, anyhow." It was like slow motion, then. He picked up his backpack, headed for the door, opened it, stepped onto the porch that ran along the front of the place, closed the door behind him.

And I waited for the noise from the door to stop, and something happened to my stomach, or something, or maybe like ice water in the face, or...anyhow, I was up and out the door in my shorts and t-shirt.

"Rollo!" I screamed. I actually heard myself scream. I dialed back a notch and yelled. He was almost to the road--at least I was pretty sure it was him: the sun was in my eyes. I turned back to grab my shoes, but the fucking door was locked! So I turned around again and started running. "Rollo! Wait, dammit!" Places like this, I guess anything that makes a fuss turns into a show. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone coming out of the estauran, staring. Didn't matter. I caught up to Rollo, grabbed his shoulder. "Rollo! Goddammit! What the fuck are you doing?" He shook my arm free. "La," he snapped, and started to run.

I started after him, then realized the damn asphalt was already hot enough to burn my feet. So I ran along the side of the road, which--if you've ever paid attention to the side of the road--was full of crap. I yelled, "Wait!" and fell on my face.

Rollo must have sensed...something. He stopped and turned around. "Oh, fuck!" he yelled, and came back. "You okay?"

"Just perfect, man. Couldn't be better! Where the fuck--ouch!"

"You cut your foot, dumb shit! It's bleeding." He grabbed my ankle and lifted it. "Just lie there and hold your foot up for a sec." He slipped out of his backpack and started digging through it. "I got a first aid thing in here, somewhere!" He pulled out a white plastic box. "Aha! Just hold your foot still. I got-- okay, this may sting, some."

I felt his hands on my ankle, then my foot, then fire! "Shit!"

"Told ya." He sounded like he was smiling. "I'm going to wrap it, okay? Should stop stinging pretty quick." He did, and it did. "I think we can get you up. Then I gotta carry you, or something."

"I can walk--" As soon as my wounded foot hit the ground, I knew it was hopeless. "I guess I can't! Where'd all the goddamn glass come from?"

"Can I--how do you do that thing where you put a guy across your shoulders, or something?"

"Too heavy. Turn around and let me grab you. Lean forward. I'm going to pull myself up, and you grab my legs. It's sort of like I'm another backpack." We staggered back toward the motel. "Don't suppose you took the room key, huh?"

"Oh, fuck! You locked out?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "No points for that."

"Pretty much no points for this whole thing." Rollo headed for the estaraun. "Maybe there won't be any other customers."

There were two older guys at the counter, pouring coffee down their throats. We all ignored each other, and Rollo eased me into a booth, then lifted my foot so it rested on the seat, next to him.

"Morning, fellas," the waitress asked. "Coffee?"

"We got locked out of our room," Rollo said. "You want coffee, Jack?"

"Shit, yeah."

We sat in the booth, looking at each other, until the waitress returned.

"Here you go, fellas. He gonna need a doctor for that?"

"Don't think so," Rollo answered, then he smiled. "But he won't be dancing for a while."

There is this to be said for eighteen: nothing interferes with the appetite. Rollo downed pancakes, bacon and sausage, hash browns, scrambled eggs--and kept an apple, "for later." I had oatmeal and whole wheat toast.

One of the old guys turned out to be the owner, and after breakfast, he helped us back to our room. "You gonna be here for a while, we got a weekly rate," he said, as he watched me limp to my bed.

"Thanks. We'll let you know after--" I pointed to my foot.

"Yeah, one thing at a time, I guess. Name's Oscar, if you need anything. Gonna get more coffee, then I'll be in the office."

"Thanks, Oscar," Rollo and I said. I think I saw Oscar smile.

Rollo helped me take a shower, then we tended to my foot, which wasn't as bad as I'd feared, once we got it cleaned off and Rollo'd tortured me with another dose of antibiotic. He got a better bandage from the motel office, and I more or less got dressed. Then we sat on our beds and looked at each other.

"Thanks, Rollo."

He shrugged. "No problem." He bit into his apple.

"About...what I said earlier? I'm one-hundred percent asshole, Rollo. I swear I...please forgive me."

"No problem."

"But it is! I fucked up, bad. I...I don't want you to leave. I really don't!"

"Yeah, well I don't want you to off yourself!" he snapped.

"See? You're angry."

"Yes, dammit!" he fired back. "There's nothing wrong with you! You got money, you could get a real job, you know shit! If anyone should blow his brains out, it should be me!" He just stared at me for a minute. "You...you got something to live for, you know? A future. You get cleaned up, meet some chick and fall in love and the next thing you know, you're fat 'n' middle-class."

"You got shit to live for, too, Rollo."

"What? Sucking cock until nobody wants me even for that?"

"Whoa! You just saved my life, practically! You're a hell of a lot more than a cocksucker! You're a goddamn hero!"

Rollo was quiet for a while. "So...what do I--we, I guess. What do we do now?"

"I was going to just walk out into the desert, you know? Just walk out and disappear. Seems kind of---I don't know, just doesn't feel right, now."

"You're not walking anywhere for a while, Jack."

"You going to stay around? It'd be good." As soon as the words came out, I heard them, and my stomach did something; I don't know what. But it was true. "Yeah," I nodded, agreeing with myself. "It would be good."

"You need a babysitter," Rollo smiled.

We were both quiet for a while.

"Jack? You okay?"

"Huh?"

"I was...you're not having another pissydee thing, are you?"

"No! I was just...drifting."

"Huh! Me, too. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a pilot. Fly around blowing shit up, and stuff."

"It's not like that, you know."

"I know now. It's not like in movies. Nothing's like in movies. You see movies and shit and the good guys wipe out the bad guys and it's like they're not even people, you know? They just die."

"Nobody just dies. They...they come apart. They look at shit like it's supposed to tell them something, maybe, or like you're supposed to fix them--but it happens too fucking fast, or there's nothing you can do, or you're so goddamn scared you can't move... There's so much, and it happens so fast and it takes forever at the same time."

"Jack?"

"Other guys are supposed to die, not your guys. Other guys."

"It wasn't your fault, you know."

"How do you know that? Maybe it was. Maybe if we'd started a little earlier, gotten a few yards further down the road, or not quite as far, or if I'd been driving, or Vince and me were in different seats...it's like somebody made the wrong choice. Some stupid thing like that and it blows up in your face!"

"That doesn't make it your fault!"

"Yes, it does! If I'd...something I did, or I didn't do--it's not like I was thinking, 'Ha! I'll sit here and Vince will...' Nothing evil, like that. But it was still something I did!"

"You should blame God, maybe."

"I do! But...hell, I'm not even sure there is one. Or maybe if I'd said a blessing before breakfast, or...it keeps coming back to me, dammit!"

"You keep making it come back, you mean."

"I didn't want...I don't want anyone to die!"

"Except you."

There was nothing to say, after that. I was alone again, miles from the world, lost in my own guts. We lapsed into a silence that lasted until Rollo said, "Must be lunch time."

Familiar ground. "Maybe. You hungry?"

"We could go into town."

"Town?"

"Silver Hill. Greater Silver Hill. Center of the great nowhere," Rollo said, spreading his arms like he was making a picture appear.

"You think there is a town?"

Rollo sighed. "There's a road. Has to go somewhere."

"Until it doesn't. Sometimes roads just...end. Dead end."

"Bet it doesn't. C'mon!"

"I can't drive with my foot all..."

"I can, though. If you trust me with your truck."

"Why not? I wasn't planning on leaving here, anyway, if you recall."

"Fuck you, Jack," Rollo grinned. "Let's take a tour."

To our surprise, there was a Silver Hill--if another gas station with a convenience store attached and about one block worth of old two-story brick buildings counts as a town. There was a laundromat, a hardware store, and a tavern, even a cross-street that disappeared into a trailer court at one end, and the parking lot of an abandoned furniture store at the other. There was a sign in the hardware store window that said, "Apartment for Rent." And there was a Burger Barn. What the heck. I parked, and we headed into the Burger Barn.

"Hi!" The girl behind the counter looked astonished at customers.

"Hi," I said.

"What can I get you?"

I studied the menu. "How about a double cheese-burger?"

"Coming right up. And for you, Sir?"

"Hi," Rollo said. "Um...double cheeseburger and fries, I guess. And a coke."

"We proudly serve Pepsi products," the girl said, more or less mechanically.

"Pepsi, then."

"Large, or Giant?"

"No Regular?" I asked.

"The Large is regular," she answered, holding up two cups.

"Large, I guess, Ma--please," Rollo said, and he winked at me.

"Make it two, please," I replied, and pulled out my wallet.

She rang us up, took the money, handed us cups and disappeared into the tangle of Burger Barn boxes, steel shelving and cooktops. Apparently, she was working solo. We filled our cups and sat at the table closest to the counter. "No lunch rush, I guess," Rollo said, smiling at me.

"I think we're the lunch rush, actually."

Right on cue, a cowboy came through the door. Well, a kid maybe a little younger than Rollo with a cowboy hat and boots. "Hey, Cindy!" he said.

"Almost ready, Cliff!"

Cliff noticed us, and nodded. "Howdy."

"Howdy," I replied. Rollo nodded.

"Just passing through?" Cliff asked. "We got car parts over at the hardware, if you need 'em."

"Thanks, but we're good. Just grabbing lunch."

Cliff grinned. "Me, too."

"Here you go, Cliff," Cindy said, putting a boxful of food on the counter.

"Thanks, Doll," Cliff replied, and there was a hint of something personal between them before he picked up the box.

"Yours'll be ready in a minute," Cindy said, and waved at Cliff as he left. "Hardware store's got a regular order for lunch."

"No problem," Rollo smiled. He leaned toward me and whispered. "I guess that was her lunch rush."

After lunch, we headed down Silver Hill Road, or Main Street, or whatever it was, to see if it went anywhere. Maybe five minutes later, it stopped at a little parking area. For some reason, there was a guard rail along one side, next to a ditch, or something. We got out, walked over to the rail, and saw that what had looked like a little dip in the dirt was an unexpected canyon, one of those cracks in the earth that look like they run straight down to nowhere. "Damn," I said. "That's a pretty good drop."

Rollo stood next to me and leaned over the guard rail. "If you're looking for a place to disappear..."

"Guess so."

We were quiet for a while, after that. "You know," Rollo said eventually, "There's colors, if you look."

"Brown and gray."

"Yeah, but look at the horizon: blue gray and gray green and even almost red."

I followed his finger. "Yeah," I agreed. "Guess so."

"How's your foot?"

"Been better."

"Should we head back?"

"Yeah," I sighed.

Rollo pulled over about midway between downtown Silver Hill and the motel, staring at the horizon. "Red, yellow, a little strip of purple, even."

I stared. "Maybe," I said.

"I guess it takes a while to see it, huh?"

"Maybe."

"I bet, after you're here a while, it's easier to see."

"You thinking of staying, Rollo?"

"Guess not. But...there's people here, who live here, even in nowhere. Must have something."

"You falling for Cliff the Cowboy?"

"He is the hottest guy in town, next to us." Rollo laughed, and started driving. "I'll take Cliff, and you can have Cindy."

"I'm not the marryin' kind, kid."

"Why not?"

"Never found Miss Right, I guess. Not that I didn't try."

Rollo didn't answer. Neither of us said anything until the cottonwoods appeared. "Can I ask you something, Jack?"

"Sure."

Rollo took a deep breath. "I..." He stopped and tried again. "I..." He took another breath and opened his mouth, but whatever he'd been about to say, it seemed stuck. "I can't say it," he said, amazed.

"Maybe it'll come to you later."

"Maybe." A few minutes later, we pulled up to the motel. "Home, again. Watch your foot, Jack."

As if I needed reminding. I headed straight for my bed and rearranged the pillows, so I could sit up.

Rollo turned on the air conditioner, which rasped, rattled and shuddered, eventually settling into a subdued roar. "Want to watch TV, or something?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Rollo grabbed the remote and jumped onto his bed. The reception was lousy, but the one decent channel was showing "King Kong"--the Jessica Lange version, not the original. I watched Rollo, waiting to see how long it would be before he figured out what it was. Unfortunately, they broke for commercials and then the magic TV voice said, "And now, back to King Kong."

"Holy shit! This is King Kong?" Rollo asked.

"Yeah. I like the old one better, though."

"The black and white one? That's just ... it's so corny!"

"So's this one."

"Yeah, but it's corny in color!" We both laughed.

"Victor/Victoria" was next. It's kind of a sweet movie, even if it is about gay guys. Well, it's not all about gay guys: it's about a gay guy and a straight girl who pretends to be a gay guy, so it gets pretty tangled up. We were both laughing when we hit the estauran for supper. They were still out of fish, fortunately. Rollo had another steak, and I risked the lasagna. I've had worse. I introduced Rollo to Irish coffee, after. "This was a good day," I smiled.

"Yeah. Kind of..." Rollo shook his head. "Thanks for showing me the middle of nowhere."

"Look, I think I'm okay to walk. How about you drive me back to the end of the road, and you can have the truck. Like you said, it's a good place to disappear."

"Too late, today. Maybe tomorrow."

I left the waitress a big tip, and we headed back to the room. "Why don't you see what's on?" I tossed the controller to him. "I gotta piss." When I came out of the bathroom, the TV was still off, and Rollo was pacing back and forth between the beds. "You okay? Gotta use the--"

"Can I ask you that question, now?"

"What question?"

"That I couldn't before?"

Maybe it was the Irish coffee, but I was clueless. "Sure," I smiled.

"Would you...I'd like to...You know I'm gay..." Then his voice rose. "I can't say it, dammit!" he wailed. He spun around and scrambled across his bed into the corner of the room. "How the hell...I can't even...what's the point of going to California, or anywhere? It wasn't supposed to be like this. What am I supposed to do?"

"Rollo?" I reached out and he cringed further into the corner. I backed away and put myself in the bathroom, just beyond the doorway. "Rollo? Just listen, okay? In basic training, there was this platoon sergeant, and we were supposed to be learning to march, like 'Column Left' and 'Company Halt' and 'Right face,' and all that, but things got really screwed up, you know, guys marching every which way? It's not supposed to happen, but it does. And he said--he ordered us, actually. He said 'Continue to march!' And we all just looked around, and pretty quick we were back in formation. That's all you have to do, Rollo. Just continue to march, one step at a time, until you get to where you're supposed to be, you know? Just continue, one foot in front of the other, until you get there."

"You're going to kill yourself tomorrow, aren't you?"

Confess. "Don't...You have a life, Rollo! A damn good one, too. Just...Don't worry about me, okay?"

"I been wondering for years why...why I was gay, what I was for, if I'd...and you came along, and we had dinner and then you told me your story and when you said you didn't have any right to live, it was like, I had to prove to you that you did. I mean, it's all I have. It's all I have to give you, or anyone, and now...I can't. I have to make love to you, Jack, and I can't."

"I don't want a mercy fuck, Rollo!" I could have bitten my tongue off. The last thing I wanted to do right then was sound angry, but I sounded--

"It's not a mercy fuck! I need to continue to march, like you said. I have to...make love and not be scared shitless." He stopped. "Maybe it is a mercy fuck--I need you to give me a mercy fuck, but I'm too goddamn scared!"

"Rollo. I...I will do whatever you want, Rollo. Whatever you need. It would...it might make up for...there'd be a reason for me to still be here, you know?" Silence. I waited, staring at the moonlight starting to make its way around the blinds in the front of the room, where Rollo was huddled. Silence. The air conditioner kicked in and I jumped. "Shit!"

"Shit!" Rollo said, at the same instant. I held my breath. "Maybe we're meant for each other," Rollo said. "Does stuff like that happen? Two people..."

I shook my head. "That's crazy."

"No! Why not?" Suddenly, Rollo was excited. "Even if it hasn't happened before, so what? Why not now? Can I try? Can we try? What have we got to lose, Jack? Besides the pain? If this doesn't work--it will, I know it will--but if it doesn't, shit. We can both kill ourselves tomorrow." Rollo rose from the corner, crawled across his bed and slipped into mine. "I--we should try. Worst option, we die together."

Just like God, tossing another ray of hope at you, just when you've made up your mind to finally stop hoping.

"Continue to march, Jack. You said." I think it was Rollo. Had to be. Couldn't be God. Or Vince.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe, until the kiss was over. It felt...I never got kissed like that before. Ever. It wasn't sexy, it was something else, something even better. Hell, maybe I was a fag, after all! You see guys, sometimes, and you know they're hot, and Rollo was hot, I had to admit that. I mean, he could make a decent living as a hustler. "You shouldn't be a hustler," I said, staring at the ceiling. "You could get hurt."

"Yeah. I know. But you can get hurt anywhere!"

"But...it might hurt somebody else. If you got hurt."

"Somebody would have to give a shit."

"Maybe I do. Not...It's not like I'm gay. I don't think. It's like...brothers, maybe, or something. Just two people who give a shit about each other."

"But no sex, though?"

"Well, I'm not...it's nice to hold on to someone, we could do that." And I rolled over and we sort of got tangled together, like...it wasn't like having sex, it was just like having somebody as close as could be so you can feel each other's heartbeats and the way their chest rises and falls and your legs wrapped around their legs wrapped around yours, in a motel room in Silver Hill in the deep quiet of a night in the middle of nowhere.

I woke up in the morning with my arm under Rollo's back, and my fingers were tingling like when they're asleep, so I tried to slide my arm out real careful, not to wake him up. It didn't work.

"Hi," he smiled, rolling over to face me and lifting his body to free my arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I smiled. Then I realized I'd said that, and that somehow or another I actually was okay. "You? Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Um...Rollo? Did we...last night, did we...you know?"

"I don't think so. Maybe. Just, you know, maybe a little rub-rub."

I moved close to him and whispered into his ear. "Maybe we should try doing it now we're awake." Last thing I saw, before we kissed again, was this huge smile.