Here's the latest chapter of this story. My thanks as always to Flip for editing my incompetent typing, and to the readers who've been kind enough to share their feelings about the story (positive and negative). I obviously appreciate hearing from anyone so motivated by the story to write, even if I get flamed (which thankfully hasn't happened yet). This story is, of course entirely fictional. It also contain graphic sexual material, so if that's not something you like or it's illegal where you live, you shouldn't read it.
I hope those interested in this story will also check out "Seal Rocks," my other Nifty story, which was completed back in April 2011 here in the HS section.
Finally, thanks to Nifty for hosting this site. If you haven't helped to support it, you should - you're reading it, after all.
When the World Changed, Chapter 24
" . . . inflicting serious casualties on soldiers of the Army's 28th Infantry Regiment near Loc Thanh, a region northwest of Saigon. US military reports several hundred Viet Cong were killed in what it described as an 'inconclusive' firefight. Our Morley Safer reports now from Tay Ninh."
Brady stopped and slid into the TV room in the first floor of Geiger. Tay Ninh was where his brother was stationed, with the 9th Infantry. The news story was brief, with the usual footage of helicopters landing and taking off, soldiers pushing warily through thick jungle, men being stretchered away. He'd seen it all so many times before. It was real, yet unreal. Trent is in that. In a war. He might get shot, blown up, killed. It might already have happened - it'd take a day or two for news to get to us.
Trent's last letter to him, written on wispy air mail paper, lay on Brady's dresser back in his room - an innocuous description of his "mama-san," an elderly Vietnamese woman who made her living doing domestic chores like laundry and cleaning for junior officers. His mother always liked to hear news of mama-san; it seemed she regarded her as her surrogate watching over Trent where she couldn't. The letter was breezy, as if he were writing from a low key vacation, someplace warm and sunny with few cares. This was the reality his letter masked: carnage, blood, emaciated crying old men and women in front of burning hovels. Death. Death all around like the rain.
He stood, his back against the wall, for several minutes after the report ended. The newscast moved on to the huge march on the Pentagon that had taken place the previous day. Fifty thousand people had surrounded the building, some slipping flowers into the barrels of the rifles held at the ready against them by soldiers protecting the structure. Abby Hoffman declared that the protesters had succeeded in "levitating" the Pentagon, which the reporter and anchorman ridiculed.
Brady moved off the wall, shaking his head. What an idiot, he thought. Levitating. He turned and Edgar Bevans' memorial in the corner caught his eye. Killed at Belleau Woods. He studied the profile for a moment before pulling his jacket closed and hurrying back to his room.
Sunday afternoon was the boys' largest single chunk of free time. After church services that morning, and lunch, they were essentially free to do whatever they wanted until dinner and study hall that night. Some wandered into Summerton's small downtown, to get a soda or piece of pizza. Some defied the chilly damp and played touch football or Frisbee out on the athletic fields. Most flopped - uninterrupted rest is every teenage boy's best friend and rarest treasure.
Brady was opting for the last. Closing his eyes seemed the best way to avoid everything - the war, his brother's safety, the slowly decreasing soreness in his side, Fieldstone, Doug, David . . . . Too many things to worry about. I'll be 14 in another week, he suddenly remembered. Right after Halloween. He wondered if anyone knew, or cared. He would of course get something from his mother, and Hal and Trent would send cards - Hal might even try to visit again from school. That would be cool, to see him again. He liked Doug, it seemed, too, which was a great relief.
David was gone again with his father - not to the shrink, but just out for the day. Mr. Tanner was showing up a lot since David had been attacked. He'd accompanied them to the football game the previous day (a lopsided victory for Wilson, with Brendan McCracken making some pulverizing tackles despite his hand injury). The hallway echoed with idle conversation, various bits of music, laughter. He closed his door, pulled the shades down. The dark, the silence, were wonderful. He dropped onto his bed and drifted off.
David was laughing at him as he chased Doug around center campus. Bill Fieldstone tackled him from behind and began kissing him. Brady squirmed to escape, seeing Doug over near David, watching with disgust. As Doug stormed into Linsley, David shrugged and followed, shouting at Brady, "We all get fucked one way or another!" Fieldstone's laugh was harsh in Brady's ear as he tickled it with the tip of his tongue. "We're gonna have some fun, Conover. Don't worry about them." He shoved wildly to get Bill of him, thrashed mightily, and fell off the bed, the fall finally awakening him.
That seriously hurt. His side erupted in pain he hadn't felt in a couple of days. He rolled slowly on the floor for a couple of minutes, groaning, trying to regain his breath.
Light streamed in from the hall. Vic Stenkowski rushed in. "Brady? I - I heard, like, this whack on the wall and then you yelled, and - are you OK, man?"
"OK - I'm OK," Brady managed to grunt out as Vic knelt next to him. "Lemme just - wanna get up, OK?"
"Sure." Vic didn't sound very certain that this was a good idea. "Can I help?"
"No, 's OK, just - hang on . . . " It took him several seconds to roll onto his knees and stand. He found himself sweaty. "Sorry," he breathed. "Hope I didn't, like, startle you, or something - did I really hit the wall?" He looked idly at his left hand and noticed a small abrasion.
Vic had him lightly by his elbow as he sat on his bed. "Yeah, the wall here." He indicated, and Brady could see a mark on the paint. I thought you'd really fallen hard, so, you know, I thought I should come in. What happened?"
"Just, you know, dreaming and stuff. No big deal."
Vic eyed him skeptically. "OK," he replied uncertainly. "Whatever. I, um, I guess you got a lot on your mind and stuff, these days. Been crazy, huh?"
"Yeah. Crazy." Brady wiped his palm across his forehead. The image of Doug staking away, irretrievably lost, wouldn't leave his mind.
"Did you hurt your side any?"
"Nah, I'm OK," he shrugged, trying to look comfortable. "Just feel like an idiot doing something like that."
"Maybe you should talk to David's dad about it. I mean he's a shrink and all. Maybe that'd help."
The last thing Brady wanted to do was talk to David's father. "It's no big deal, really, OK? I - I'm fine, I'm gonna be fine. Just was stupid."
"Brady." Vic had an uncharacteristically serious tone to his voice. "You gotta do something, man. You're different now. Everybody sees it."
"Sees what?" Brady asked, suddenly horrified.
"You're all like quiet, depressed, and like, not all there a lot - staring at nothing and all. Like you went someplace really far away and can't get back - or maybe you don't want to. It - it's not you, y'know? It's not Brady." He sat on the bed next to him. "If you can't get back on your own, get somebody to help. It doesn't have to be a shrink. Maybe David, or Evan. Or Doug, I mean hell, you guys are really tight, he could help." Brady couldn't meet Vic's gaze at that moment. "I mean I'd be glad to help, but I dunno if I'm the one to do that. But somebody, Bray. OK?"
Brady blinked several times, staring at the floor. "OK," he whispered. "I - I'm sorry I'm being all weird and shit. I'll do better."
"Christ, man, the last thing you gotta do is apologize. It's just - I mean guys like you. It's cool. For you anyway. I wish guys liked me like that."
"Vic, you're cool. A little dorky with the hobbit thing and all, but cool," he added with a sly grin.
Vic started laughing. "Come on, admit it, you like it too. I see you reading those books. I'll teach you Elvish writing if you want."
"That's OK, I'm not that big a weenie over it - not yet, anyway," Brady laughed.
Doug poked his head in the doorway. "Hey, feel like going with a bunch of guys out along the lake and the creek past it? We want to see how far back the creek goes."
Brady nodded. "Sure. It goes a ways, if I remember right. I think it curls around south and ends up almost at a trotter farm I used to work at. We can't get there and back this afternoon, but it'd be cool to walk a while." He looked at Vic. "Wanna go too?"
Vic blushed; his social skills around most of the boys, especially in larger groups, were generally lacking. "I - I dunno. I, um, it's not, like -"
"Aw, c'mon, Vic," Doug urged him. "It'll be fun. We can actually get all muddy and stuff and Billips won't care."
Vic laughed at that. "I brought a compass we can use," as he started to warm to the idea. "We can like keep track of where we are."
Doug smiled slightly at Brady. "Sure," Brady said, "that'll make sure we don't like slip off and follow the wrong creek or anything."
"Yeah!" Vic said with sudden enthusiasm. "Lemme change. How soon are we going?"
"Soon as we can. It's already past one."
Vic hopped up and hurried out the door, grinning. Doug chuckled and flopped on the bed next to Brady, leaning back to prop his head against the wall. "That was priceless. 'The wrong creek'?"
Brady laughed as well. "Hey, I wanted to have him think it'd be a useful thing and all. I don't think he's all that up on wilderness hiking or anything, y'know?"
"I guess," Doug said with a lingering smile. "Hey, are you doin' OK?"
"Yeah, of course," Brady answered, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Was everybody seeing what Vic had seen? "Look, I - I'm sorry, if I've been like weird or stuff the past coupla days -"
"Bray." Doug's smile had broadened warmly, Brady was enraptured. "It's cool, OK? I - I know why you've been a little freaked out. I mean, what happened was . . . it was sick, y'know? And I know you don't say a lot about it, you keep it all inside and stuff." He laid a hand on Brady's knee, electrically. "I get it, OK? Don't get all worried. Most of the guys get it too. People actually like you, Bray. Especially with Ian gone. Just relax, OK?"
Brady smiled back stupidly, unable to speak. Please kiss me, he thought, looking deeply into Doug's eyes. Kiss me and touch me all over, wrap me up and let me just melt into you. It took him several seconds to break their gaze, and lower his eyes to the floor. "Thanks," he whispered, bumping his shoulder against Doug's. They started shoving one another playfully.
"I can't wrestle you yet," Brady warned. "My side's not better yet."
Doug grinned. "Does it hurt to tickle?" And he tried, with Brady squirming away, laughing. It did hurt a little, but it also was, well, ticklish, and he fell sideways on the bed squealing like a toddler. Doug laughed and leapt astride him, his fingers running lightly up and down his sides. "Tell me if it hurts, OK?"
OK," Brady gasped. "Just get off me willya?" More tickles, and another squeal. "God, you're being such an asshole," he laughed. Then more tickles.
Evan looked in at them. "You guys sacrificing a pig or something? Jesus."
Doug looked up and grinned. "He's ticklish!"
"Oh, hell, yeah," Evan said, moving in for the kill.
"No no, c'mon guys," Brady started to gasp before the fingers ran up and down his flanks and he lost control, squirming and giggling uncontrollably. He got occasional stabs of pain, but he ignored them, trying vainly to fight his way free. Someone went at his armpits, which was deadly - he clamped his upper arms down forcefully in an attempt to protect himself there. Vic was going at his feet now, and Dunc had shown up from somewhere, leaning in the door cracking up. Other kids poked heads in. The scene got pretty raucous before the Prefects broke it up.
Brady lay on his bed gasping, his eyes wet, his hair sweaty and matted. Doug stood over him triumphantly. "Whaddya think, Davey, did we get him to laugh yet?"
David had walked in without Brady noticing it, and was seated at his desk chair, calmly surveying the carnage. "I personally would go after him for about another hour, but I think we're all about to get stung. Too bad." He waggled his eyebrows. "Ve vill safe zis for laterrrrrr," he rasped in a fake German accent. The laughter started again, which gave Brady time to grab Doug and throw him onto the bed. It turned out Doug was almost as ticklish as he was, and the next minute or so was a repeat of what Brady had just experienced. Doug managed not to make too much noise, though. Brady beamed as he looked down at Doug's contortions, sitting astride his hips. It's like making love, he thought, and then he realized he was growing hard. He panicked, rolled off onto the floor, hit awkwardly, and gave himself another good jolt from his ribs.
Doug was immediately on the floor next to him, holding his shoulders. "Bray, you OK? I - I didn't like throw you off or anything did I?"
"No, no, fine. It's fine. I just - I fell off. Doofus, right." He kept curled up, praying that his cock would deflate just a little. It declined to cooperate, however, and was throbbing powerfully against the fabric of his briefs. He decided to try jumping up and moving quickly away, to hide himself somehow. But when he moved to stand, he tottered, and wound up on his feet, legs wide apart, waving his arms for balance, with an obvious tent in his pants.
The room was suddenly silent. Brady felt the color rising in his cheeks. "Damn, Bray," Dunc whistled. "I think you're almost as big as Doug is, and he's fuckin' huge."
"Shut up," Doug said, embarrassed.
David had a devilish smile playing on his lips. "Is he really? That'd be something to see."
Vic was staring at Brady's crotch too. "I know I'm nothin' like that. I barely got pubes, y'know?"
Brady, having gathered his balance, tried to pull his sweatshirt down over his crotch. "Can we just drop this, please? It's embarrassing, guys." He looked at Evan, whose eyebrows were raised, visibly impressed. He looked so foolish that Brady couldn't help laughing, and then the whole room exploded in laughter.
"Conover the horse-man!" Dunc shouted.
"Shut up," Brady managed to say between giggles. "You heard Dunc, Doug's bigger."
This had the effect Brady had hoped. The entire group now pounced on Doug, tickling him all over, pinning him down and eliciting this time considerable noise from him. David closed the room door to keep the Prefects from hearing. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes Doug was visibly erect as well. Brady, sitting on his bed catching his breath, noticed that all the boys were getting tumescent. This is weird, he though. Fun, but weird.
"See? I told you!" Dunc said triumphantly, sitting atop Doug's chest and pointing behind him at the bulge in Doug's jeans. "Look at that thing! He could play baseball with it and hit .400!"
"Christ, Doug," Vic gasped. "Do you get lightheaded when you're like that? I mean with all the blood flowing there from your brain and stuff."
Doug was visibly embarrassed, but also a bit proud. Brady remembered how Doug had made a point of describing how big his cock was to him that first day in the showers after practice. "Come on, guys," he said shyly, rubbing his hand over himself. "It's not like, important or anything."
"This is world record stuff, Doug!" Dunc answered, reaching for his belt. "Come on, you gotta show it off."
Doug's cheeks were bright red, but he was grinning. Brady had never realized how proud, in some sense he couldn't yet quite fathom, Doug was of the size of his dick. He looked at Brady a moment, smiled lopsidedly, and opened his pants.
Brady's mouth went dry. He had seen Doug often enough in the shower after practice, flaccid, and of course on open weekend when he'd jumped up to piss. But this was a revelation. He was huge, thick as well as startlingly long, dark skinned, veiny. It looked like it weighed a ton. Luckily, everyone in the room except Dunc was similarly astonished. Evan's face was purplish. "Geez, Garretson, that's not even human."
Vic's face was a similar color. "H - how big is that anyway?"
"Eight and a half inches," Dunc prompted. Doug nodded. Expressions of amazement, envy, and various horse jokes immediately filled the air.
Brady felt sweaty, lightheaded. He glanced over at David, and saw him looking directly at Brady, gauging his reaction. He raised one eyebrow slightly. Brady smiled a bit, shrugged bashfully. David burst out laughing.
Doug turned to him. "What's funny?" He seemed almost annoyed.
David grinned. "You guys being perverted with each other. No, no, don't get pissed," he added as the boys rounded on him. "It doesn't bother me. After all, I'm the one they all call faggot, right?" He looked at Doug. "That thing's a menace, Garretson, you better put it away before somebody gets killed."
Doug grinned, relaxing now that David had paid him proper homage. He started to tuck his cock back in his pants, but paused. "Hey, who's next biggest?"
Brady shrank back. He was rock hard, but the last thing he wanted to do was to display himself in front of everyone - in front of Doug, especially. And with Evan and Dunc and Vic all there to see as well! They might be able to tell, he thought. He glanced about him nervously. Dunc was laughing and opening his pants already. "I got nothin' on Monster Dick here, but it's not too bad!" he pulled his cock out - a reddish fat thing that curved to the left. It looked big enough to Brady. "Doug and I already did the comparing thing. I'm just a little over 6, so I look like a midget next to him!"
Vic stared at both of the erections bobbing out before him. He looked nervous. "I, uh, I dunno about this," he stuttered.
"Oh come on, Stenkowski, we're not doin' anything! Doug and me see each other with morning wood all the time. I'm not gonna pick up on you or anything," Dunc laughed. Brady joined in nervously. Vic, his cheeks flushing violently, opened his pants. His erection was smaller, thin, especially after looking at Doug's. "I - I don't think it's very, you know, impressive, or anything," he stammered apologetically.
Doug smiled tolerantly. "It's no big deal, Vic. My dad says most guys don't really get to like adult size until later anyway. I just, you know, I'm kind of weird that way." He grinned. "OK, we gotta see Creed and Conover now!"
"No way am I doin' something this perverted!" Evan exclaimed, though his left hand, covering his crotch, somewhat belied the outrage in his voice. He started to move toward the door. "I mean this is, . . . it's - well, y'know -"
"It's nothing, Evan," Dunc said. "We're fucking kids, just checking stuff out. Nobody's gonna like rape ya or anything." Brady took a quick look at David, whose cheeks had reddened a bit even though his placid expression remained unchanged.
Evan also glanced at David nervously. "Relax, Creed," David said calmly. "This isn't the first time guys compared themselves to each other. It doesn't mean you gotta wear a dress tomorrow."
Evan was visibly uncomfortable. "Yeah, well I don't see you whippin' it out or anything," he protested.
David stood. "I really got nothin' to whip out. Not after Seabiscuit here," he added, gesturing toward Doug and eliciting some more embarrassed laughter. He undid his zipper and pulled out a small hairless erection. "I'm still kind of getting there, puberty wise," he said without any hint of apology.
Evan's eyes rested on David's cock, then scanned the room. "This is just weird," he said.
Doug laughed. "OK then, c'mon Bray, you gotta give us a good show!" He playfully jabbed Brady's shoulder.
Brady felt his forehead dampening. He knew he had to join in, as casually as possible, to avoid suspicion. He glanced at David, who seemed to be enjoying his embarrassment. "This isn't a contest, right? Cuz I'm not competing with a fucking centaur," he said with false bravado, nodding at Doug while he fumbled with his belt. The laughter covered him while he pulled himself out into view.
Dunc nodded vigorously. "Not bad, Bray, not bad. D'ya think it's as big as mine, Doug?"
Doug shrugged. "Nah, no way. But you guys should measure."
Brady's eyes widened. "M - measure? Like, measure my dick?" I mean, how -"
"It's easy," David said, taking a ruler from his desk and grabbing Brady's cock. Brady let out a loud yelp, which further cracked up the rest of the boys. Even Evan Creed seemed amused, though he stepped subtly away from David to be sure he didn't get grabbed or anything as well.
David laid his ruler against the side of Brady's erection, which had stiffened even more with David's hand wrapped around it. Doug was suddenly next to him, giggling slightly and helping David make a proper measurement. Brady had a momentary panic that he might come from being handled like this. He thought of every awful thing he could in a desperate attempt to halt the rising tremor - the pictures in Life magazine from the Zapruder film of President Kennedy's brains being splattered all over, diagrams of football plays, the smell of the chicken coops he cleaned out when he was ten that had made him puke. Nothing worked. He couldn't look down, but he knew that Doug was at least lightly touching him as David made his calculation. "Six and a half," he announced. Brady tried not to gasp too obviously at the waves of feeling crashing over him.
"Jesus, that's just perverted," Evan breathed shakily.
"Does that beat me?" Dunc asked, clearly concerned. The tone of his question cracked everyone up, resulting in the surreal vision of the five boys, laughing and swaying about, with erections bobbing foolishly in front of them. Brady managed to back away from David and Doug, disguising his breathlessness with laughter, without having lost himself entirely.
A knock on the door. "We're inspecting rooms this afternoon, guys! Get it all cleaned up and stuff." Luce yelled through the door. The boys hurriedly tucked themselves back inside their pants, their erections shrinking quickly at the prospect of possibly being caught.
"Y'see," Evan said in a superior tone of voice. "That was a dumb thing to do." He kept his air of superiority even as the rest of the boys heckled him for being prissy. Brady smiled, but kept silent.
Vic seemed a bit downcast. "I guess that means we can't do that hike, huh?" He reached into his pants pocket and produced a gold cased compass. Holding his hand out with it mournfully.
Doug grinned and squeezed his shoulder. "Next weekend for sure, OK Vic?" Brady had to smile at his ability to make other people feel good about themselves. Comfortable when they were with him. He envied him that ability; he always felt so tongue-tied.
As the other guys left the room, Doug sidled up to him. "That wasn't too weird for you or anything, was it?"
Brady blinked. "No! No, no. Not weird. Not at all. I just - I mean, you're like the winner every time in that department, right?" He managed to grin crookedly at Doug. It actually felt good now, to be able to tease him openly about his penis. A barrier had been broken.
Doug beamed. "What can I say?" he answered in an affectedly breezy manner. They both laughed, and Doug headed upstairs.
That night Brady lay in bed after lights out for a while, reliving the sight of Doug's erection. He idly fondled himself, lost in the recollection. David's voice startled him when it came out of the darkness. "So, was that fun for you?"
Brady felt embarrassed. "Was what fun?"
"Oh come on. Seeing Mr. Monster Cock on full display. "
Brady laughed. "Oh, that." He stared at the faint tree branch shadows on the ceiling. "I guess. It was weird. People showing off like that."
He heard David roll over in his bed. "Not really. I mean guys are hard every morning in the bathroom. You know, trying to piss and all. It's part of the package at a place like this. You've seen it." Brady nodded assent in the darkness. "You get a bunch of guys our age together, at some point somebody's gonna pop a boner. I was talking about Garretson, in particular."
"I know you were." Brady struggled to answer. "He really is pretty big, isn't he?"
David laughed. "So you having second thoughts now? Don't think you could handle him?"
"Stop it, that's gross," Brady protested.
"Why? That's what you do when you go to bed with a guy. You suck his dick, you touch it, you- "
"All right, all right, I don't need a description." He was blushing, recalling what he'd done with Fieldstone. As if I need to be told, he thought.
David laughed. "You're so uptight. You want it so bad but you don't want to face what it is you want. God, no wonder you're like paralyzed."
"Whaddya mean, paralyzed?"
"You are. With Doug. Every time you get near him part of you seizes up like you're about to have a heart attack or something. Even when you guys are kidding around and busting each other's balls, there's this - this detachment you have." Brady felt his stomach sinking. "He sees it, you know. He senses it. Why are you so scared of him?"
"I'm not scared of Doug," Brady said quietly.
"Then of yourself, maybe. Or maybe both. Scared of what you feel."
"Can we drop this, please? I really don't want to talk about this right now, OK?"
"Fine." David remained silent for a couple of minutes. "So," he finally continued, "how're your ribs?"
Brady smiled a little, grateful for the change of subject. "Feeling better. I go back to the doctor tomorrow morning - Glendon has me excused from second and third periods. I'm hoping I can play this week." He hesitated. "H - how are you doing?"
A brief pause. "OK. Spent the day with my Dad. He wanted to go look at the 'fall colors' up towards the Water Gap. It was nice to get out, but the whole 'fall colors' thing made me want to barf."
Brady laughed. "Well, did you have a good time with him at least?"
David turned again in his bed. "Yeah," he said flatly. "It was great."
"OK. Um, good." Brad wasn't sure what else to say. "You feeling any better?"
David snorted quietly. "Well, you can see my eye, it's going down pretty well. Thestitches supposedly dissolve themselves. Isn't that a great image? Dissolving stitches inside my asshole. Anyway, it doesn't hurt to go now, which is nice."
"OK. That's good, isn't it?"
"Yeah. It's great. Today I consider myself the luckiest man on earth."
Brady chuckled a bit at that line. "You know, in some ways, you are lucky. He could have really hurt you badly - physically, I mean. I know how hard this must be to go through, but I mean he could have like broken your arm or smashed your face or something."
"Sometimes I wish he had smashed my face. Then I could get a new one and be somebody else," David said in a low tremor.
"Don't say shit like that."
"Why not? Does it bother you? Something else to avoid? How long is that list now, anyway, Conover? Let's see, your dad, your mom, both your brothers, your friend in Cullingstown, Garretson, me - "
"Will you stop it? I'm not fighting with you."
"Bullshit. You're fighting with me, and the rest of the world. You're fighting to keep it all away from touching you, and you're hiding."
Brady was getting pissed in spite of himself. "OK, what am I hiding from?"
"From yourself. From feeling. From letting anything that's even a little real out, towards anything. You're too scared of what's inside to let yourself feel anything. I know I'm fucked up and scarred and all that crap, but Jesus."
Brady had no answer. He felt his eyes filling. "Fuck you," he muttered and turned away, wrapping himself tightly in his sheets and huddling beneath them in a ball.
"Yeah, that's the perfect position. Fetal. Keep that up, Conover."
He got up early the next morning, showered, and was gone before David got up. He sat in front of the TV and watched Hugh Downs talk about increasing levels of Viet Cong activity throughout South Viet Nam, and prayed for his brother. Since it was pouring, Work Program was cancelled, and he sat in front of the TV until it was time for Mr. Glendon to take him back to the doctor.
Dr. Fishbein smelled even more of his cigarettes, if that was possible. His smile showedteeth yellowed by the habit. "So, Mr. Conover, haven't been doing any wrestling I hope" He peered at the x-rays his nurse had taken - a process that had involved more uncomfortable contortions, which at least didn't hurt as badly this time. "You heal fast, young man," and Brady's heart leaped for a moment. "In another week or so you can get back to the battle."
"A - a week? I thought," Brady tried to keep his voice even, "I thought I was healing fast."
"You are, son." Dr. Fishbein's grin was alarming, like staring into a death mask. Even from several feet away, his breath was fetid from the rot in his lungs. "Just need to be careful. You get hit again, if you're not well enough healed, you'll have real problems. Ribs can break badly, puncture lungs, do all sorts of damage internally. You have a lot of years left to you, so let's not worry about a week. OK?"
Brady looked disconsolately at the floor. "Yes, sir. Of course."
The chill in Mr. Glendon's car was too deep for his heater to dent; Brady shivered from the cold and damp the whole way back to campus. "You're not getting sick, are you?"
"No, sir. Just got wet running to the car."
Mr. Glendon pulled up behind Linsley, as close to the door as he could. "All right, then, get to your next class. Don't come out to practice today - not in this. Run in the gym if you can, and don't push yourself. I don't want you sick on top of this."
But within an hour it was obvious that Brady was very sick, a sudden high fever that had him alternately shivering and sweating beneath his sheets. He missed his remaining morning classes, lunch, and all the afternoon. David was again absent. He was only dimly aware of time's passage, shuddering beneath his blankets in the warmest sweat suit he could find in his drawers. His dreams were random and confused. Bill Fieldstone declaimed against the war, while small Asian men in black pajamas stalked Trent with rifles and machetes through a dense jungle. He tried to call to him, but Kenny was pulling him towards the clearing, where Ian McShane sat in a chair. "This'll be fun to watch," he explained. David was laughing somewhere nearby, and Brady realized he was with his old boyfriend, Edward. He felt simultaneously happy for David, and envious. Doug walked toward him, smiling, but saying, "This is impossible, you know that." "Please, no," Brady begged, falling to his knees in the middle of the field, his helmet thudding to the ground next to him. "Hit him!" Kenny shouted from the bleachers, swinging a megaphone over his head. The ground opened up, and a voice he imagined was his father's thundered, "You're a disgrace! You're a perverted disgrace!" He scrambled desperately to stay out of the widening steaming abyss, but knew he couldn't make it.
He sat upright in bed, shivering and sweaty. The room was shadowy, and the ghosts of his dream lingered in the dim spaces. He clutched the blankets to his chest and shuddered for several minutes.
David's voice was quiet and soothing. "Try to get this down, Bray, it'll help."
He blinked his eyes open. The overhead light was harsh.
"It's OK," David whispered. "It's medicine."
Brady blinked again. "Did I fall?"
"No, Brady, you got a fever or something. My dad saw you when he dropped me off, and he got this stuff from the drug store for you. It's a prescription, OK? It's getting the fever down. The nurse isn't at the infirmary today, it's her day off. Some school infirmary, huh? Nurse takes a fucking day off. So nobody's supposed to get sick I guess." The syrup was cold, the medicine thick and a bit chalky. Brady choked a bit as it went down. "Swallow it, man. You got to take two more. You had a dose a while ago, before my dad left, but I think you were probably too out of it to know."
After two more, Brady fell heavily back onto his pillow. He woke again sometime after dark, with David at his desk doing homework, headphones clapped over his ears. He felt exhausted, even though he'd slept so much, but no longer feverish. He sat up on his elbows. "God, I'm so fucked, I missed everything today."
David turned to him, removing his earphones. A thin, tinny version of "A Whiter Shade of Pale" leaked from the headphones under his words. "I saw Billips, he's gonna excuse you for the whole day. He says to let him know in the morning if you need another day, and then you can hit the infirmary once the nurse decides she should show up."
Brady blinked. "Billips did that? Wow, that's really cool of him."
"Yeah, the new improved version. The 'Please don't get me fired' version."
"He's not like that. He's not that bad."
David caught himself before he could say whatever nasty remark had been on his lips. "Never mind." He sat at his desk. Just rest and stuff, OK?"
"OK." Brady closed his eyes for a long minute. "Are you still pissed off at me?"
David turned to look at him. "I thought you were the one pissed off at me. Feeling human again?"
Brady ran a hand through his hair. It was damp, greasy from his sweat. "No, not yet. Better, though, I guess," he replied, shaking his head. "You were just being, like, a prick and all. Last night."
David laughed. "Forget last night, OK? We both were jerks, in our own little ways. I lash out, you crawl into your hole." His laugh, his smile, seemed somehow forced.
"No I don't," Brady protested, but weakly. It wasn't something he wanted to get going again. He dropped back onto his mattress. "So your dad was here?"
"Yeah. More shrink mania. Great day, especially with midterms coming up. I'm gonna eat it in geometry if I do this much more." He again clearly didn't want to discuss the subject much more.
Brady took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. "I gotta thank him for - for whatever it is, that he got for me. Your dad, I mean. "
David laughed, staring absently at the floor. "Next time, you're gonna have to pay for it. That's how we get you hooked."
Brady tried laughing, too, but it took so much effort. "What time is it?" he asked.
"Almost done with study hall. You need another dose of that shit at ten, OK? Don't die on me before then."
"Crap. I was looking forward to disappointing you."
"Asshole."
"Dickwad."
"Come stain."
"Skid mark."
They were laughing too hard by then to continue. Brady caught his breath, relaxed, and closed his eyes. He felt like sleeping forever. He didn't notice the look on David's face as he slipped back into a now dreamless sleep. The sleep was so peaceful he didn't even mind when David briefly woke him to give him more medicine. He just slid right back.
The room was dark when he woke again. He felt much better. David was curled in his bed. Snoring a bit, Brady thought. Or was he? Brady blinked, trying to clear his head. He listened closely.
"Davey?"
"Go back to sleep. OK?" His voice seemed somehow uneven.
"No, I mean, are you OK?"
"Yeah. I'm great. Go to sleep."
"No, you're bummed about something."
"I'm always bummed about something. Who cares?"
"No, but like more than usual." David snickered a little in the darkness. "Is stuff OK with your dad and all - the shrinks or whatever?"
David was silent for several minutes. "My dad's fine, actually."
"OK," Brady said, unsure of what else he could say to that.
Several minutes passed. "So," David quietly said, "I guess my mom's gonna stay in California."
Brady felt a chill. "What, like - Oh God, Davey, I'm sorry." No response. "Are you OK?"
It seemed like an eternity before David answered. "Yeah. I'm fine." He didn't sound it.
Several seconds passed. "It - it's not like I haven't seen it coming for a while, you know? I mean she - she's smart, and she went Smith and all, and - and she's like this great shiny tool that's been built to do stuff, and what does she get to do? Be a mom, and sit around the mother's teas at Rye Country Day blabbing about hats and shit."
Brady blinked. "Is that so bad, really? For a mom?" He would have killed to have a mother who stayed at home, who was just his mom all the time, who didn't have to work, who could be there for him all the time. Not that his mother hadn't tried, or done the best she could, but he'd always been so acutely aware of that absence, of the need for him to fill in for himself what she wasn't able to do. To him, in a way, it was worse than not having a father - with his mother, he knew what he was missing, every day. Then he began piecing together things over the past couple of days. "I - I guess your dad told you yesterday?"
"Yeah. A nice Sunday outing, lunch on Carnegie Lake watching the crew teams work out, and by the way Mom's not coming back. Red letter day."
Brady tried to think of something to say. "It - it's not, like permanent, though, right? I mean it's not like she doesn't, you know, care . . . "
"Right, I forgot. She cares. That's why she's in fucking Carmel meditating over seal carcasses or something."
"David, I - "
"Skip it. Life goes on, right?" He sniffled loudly, and Brady realized the noise he'd heard was David crying. He rose to embrace David. "Don't, Conover. Not - not tonight, OK? Just go to sleep. I'll be fine. Like my dad says, I have excellent coping mechanisms. Lucky me." He sniffled loudly. "Besides, you probably got like Black Death or something."
Brady sat on the edge of his bed a moment. "OK. You sure?"
David sighed heavily. "Yeah." He rolled over again, away from Brady. "Later."
After a couple of minutes Brady slid back into his bed. David's breathing now was even and calm - he'd fallen asleep. Or at least he was faking it better. Brady stared at the ceiling and the slight shadows that played across it in the darkness. It was like a death, he realized. David just lost his mother. And he knew her well enough to appreciate the magnitude of the loss. Geez, he thought. Here I am feeling sorry for myself, and look at this.
He was wide awake now, his hours of sleep earlier were catching up to him. He ran through all his classes and what he'd probably missed. If he could manage to get going tomorrow it wouldn't be bad. He wondered what Doug had been up to. Had he looked in when he was passed out with the fever? He wondered how football practice had gone. That got him thinking about his ribs. He probed his right side with his index finger. Some sore areas, but nothing sharp like there had been. Maybe he'd heal up faster than Fishbein thought. Then he felt guilt over fretting about his own problems when David was grieving so.
His thoughts drifted, to the war, and to Trent. Things were clearly getting more dangerous. He's got what, three months left, Brady calculated. Then he comes home. Thirteen month tour, that's what they do. And he's doing like briefings and stuff mostly now. He tried to convince himself that he was safe, but the images from the TV kept creeping back. He was ashamed to realize that he really wasn't that close to Trent - he'd gone away to school too early in Brady's life, and been too angry much of the time he was at home. He'd been more scared of him than anything. There was love, certainly, a brotherly affection, but it was strained, at arm's length. Not like with Hal. He was the one who'd always stepped in when Trent would really go off on him when he was little, calming the situation and later comforting him. He felt guilty thinking that about Hal. He'd been his surrogate father in many ways, along with Trent of course. He was supposed to care desperately, deeply. But he didn't. He was worried, of course, but he didn't feel the depth of concern he supposed he should. Was something wrong with him in this way too?
What if Trent got killed? He'd never really allowed himself to examine this issue in any detail. His first thought was for his mother. It's been what, just over ten years since Daddy died. God, this would just crush her. She'd never make it. He'd have to go back home to be with her, for certain. That was when the fear rushed in. His new life, his world, was at Wilson now - with David and Evan and Dunc and Vic and Jerry. With Doug. The fear of losing all that, of losing Doug, panicked him in a way that the prospect of having his brother killed in combat couldn't. That again caused guilt, but it paled compared to the catastrophe he saw for his own life. He couldn't lose this, it meant everything to him. He lay trembling for several minutes, flop sweat adding to the dampness of his sheets from his earlier fever.
He stood, wiping his forehead. He needed a shower. He sniffed his right armpit to confirm the fact. The green glow of the clock radio told him it was 2:27. He sighed, fell back into bed, rolled over, tried to empty his brain
Images of Doug turning towards him, laughing. His tawny skin flecked with water, in the shower next to him. His eyes flashing in the sun. The imagined smoothness of his shoulder, his flank, his stomach. The furnace hot weight of his erection, in the palm of the hand. The faint waft of shampoo scent from his hair as it swept across the face. Into the deep well of sensations he fell, losing direction, losing any meaning but the feel of Doug Garretson against him, with him, above him, below him, in him. His mouth opened to cry out, in joy and desire and fear, but Doug's mouth was on his and the cry merged with Doug's own and their breath entangled even as their dream-soaked limbs did.
He awoke just before he emptied himself onto his mattress, humping at it furiously and clutching its side. At least he became aware that he wasn't coming on Doug, or with him, but onto his bed, just before it happened. But it was far too late to stop it, and the image of the lovemaking remained, intense as it was vague, a wet dream of huge proportions. His pillow felt damp. He heaved for breath, feeling the sweat now in his hair, and letting the lassitude of his release pull him back down into slumber. The faint smell of his semen floated up to his nostrils from beneath the sheets.
Is that as close as I'll ever get, was his last thought, before dreams fled and deep sleep took him.