prisoners in Central America.
I whispered, “Bastard.” If he was
listening, he did not look back.
•
After dinner—a cheese sandwich I
made at home—I flew to Wilshire Boulevard, landed in an alley, and
walked to our favorite café. No one noticed me until I sat across
from a Celestial whose size could not be hidden by custom-made
street clothes. Then there were the usual whispers as people
wondered if I was also a masker or a movie star or someone famous.
After all, I was meeting with the Celestial whose face had been on
all the news. The wondering about us died quickly, and no one came
to ask for autographs.
Jason said, “I’m glad you
came.”
I said, “I had to.”
The waiter approached. Jason told
her, “The usual.” She smiled and left.
I said, “If Steeljerk had hit you,
I would’ve killed him.”
He laughed. “I know
that.”
The waiter set a root beer in front
of me and a cappuccino in front of Jason, saying, “It’ll stunt your
growth.”
He said, “Promises,
promises.”
The waiter grinned and left. I
said, “She must think we’re mighty cute together.”
“And why not? We
are.”
“Well.” I blushed.
“Look—”
“You don’t have to
explain.”
“Dad would think I’d
betrayed our people.”
Jason shook his head. “He’d think
you’d betrayed his people. He’d be right.”
“Gee, thanks. That’s
sure comforting.” I stared at the foam of my root beer.
Jason did his John Wayne. “A man’s
got to do what a man’s got to do.” Then he added, “It doesn’t
change how we feel.”
“I’m worried about
you going on patrol. You’ll be a target—”
He nodded. “A mighty big target.
Gaybashers look for easy prey.”
“I don’t like
it.”
“So tag along. My
route hits the parks and gay neighborhoods. It’ll be a walking
date.”
I shook my head and couldn’t look
at his face.
He laughed. “Your dad would love
the headlines. ‘Galaxian’s Son Cruises Homosexual
Hangouts.‘”
I shrugged.
Jason’s voice shifted suddenly. He
said, “‘Gee, Jase, why don’t we talk about other things?’ ‘Sure,
Alec; what do you want to talk about?’ ‘How about your beautiful
eyes, Jase, you big gorgeous hunk of a man, you?’”
I wanted to say he did a lousy
imitation of me, but I heard myself laugh instead. We talked about
school and friends and how the world should be changed. Then he
went on patrol, and I flew back to do some homework.
The eleven o’clock news showed him
strolling through the streets in costume while people cheered. An
ancient Hispanic woman said she thought he was wonderful. A guy who
looked like he had an ulcer said he thought Jason was disgusting. A
young guy said, “White maskers, black maskers, human maskers,
skyguy maskers, straight maskers, gay maskers. They’re all
egomaniacs in tights. Who cares?” That’s one form of
acceptance.
I wanted to be with Jason. Then I
thought about Dad and the harrassment I’d get at school, and I
decided I’d done the right thing.
•
I woke on the sofa. Something
needed my attention. I had the phone to my ear before I understood
what was happening. Jason’s mom said, “Alec? Pamela Zi’Garis.” Her
voice was quietly formal, which seemed odd; I’d had dinner at their
house, and she’d been as loud and happy as her son. “Jason asked me
to call. First, you should know that he’s going to be fine, and
second—” She inhaled suddenly, then said, “He’d like to see you.
Visiting hours—”
“Where is he?” I
asked.
“Kennedy Clinic, Room
Seven-thirteen. Visiting hours—”
“Thanks.” I hung up
the phone.
Two minutes later, I set my bare
feet onto the hospital roof near the helicopter landing pad, found
an open door, flew down the stairwell to the seventh floor, scanned
the hallway for watchers, and flew into Jason’s room.
He was asleep, breathing raggedly.
Two beds had been pushed together to hold him. Two sheets had been
draped over him. In the dim light, his
I whispered, “Bastard.” If he was
listening, he did not look back.
•
After dinner—a cheese sandwich I
made at home—I flew to Wilshire Boulevard, landed in an alley, and
walked to our favorite café. No one noticed me until I sat across
from a Celestial whose size could not be hidden by custom-made
street clothes. Then there were the usual whispers as people
wondered if I was also a masker or a movie star or someone famous.
After all, I was meeting with the Celestial whose face had been on
all the news. The wondering about us died quickly, and no one came
to ask for autographs.
Jason said, “I’m glad you
came.”
I said, “I had to.”
The waiter approached. Jason told
her, “The usual.” She smiled and left.
I said, “If Steeljerk had hit you,
I would’ve killed him.”
He laughed. “I know
that.”
The waiter set a root beer in front
of me and a cappuccino in front of Jason, saying, “It’ll stunt your
growth.”
He said, “Promises,
promises.”
The waiter grinned and left. I
said, “She must think we’re mighty cute together.”
“And why not? We
are.”
“Well.” I blushed.
“Look—”
“You don’t have to
explain.”
“Dad would think I’d
betrayed our people.”
Jason shook his head. “He’d think
you’d betrayed his people. He’d be right.”
“Gee, thanks. That’s
sure comforting.” I stared at the foam of my root beer.
Jason did his John Wayne. “A man’s
got to do what a man’s got to do.” Then he added, “It doesn’t
change how we feel.”
“I’m worried about
you going on patrol. You’ll be a target—”
He nodded. “A mighty big target.
Gaybashers look for easy prey.”
“I don’t like
it.”
“So tag along. My
route hits the parks and gay neighborhoods. It’ll be a walking
date.”
I shook my head and couldn’t look
at his face.
He laughed. “Your dad would love
the headlines. ‘Galaxian’s Son Cruises Homosexual
Hangouts.‘”
I shrugged.
Jason’s voice shifted suddenly. He
said, “‘Gee, Jase, why don’t we talk about other things?’ ‘Sure,
Alec; what do you want to talk about?’ ‘How about your beautiful
eyes, Jase, you big gorgeous hunk of a man, you?’”
I wanted to say he did a lousy
imitation of me, but I heard myself laugh instead. We talked about
school and friends and how the world should be changed. Then he
went on patrol, and I flew back to do some homework.
The eleven o’clock news showed him
strolling through the streets in costume while people cheered. An
ancient Hispanic woman said she thought he was wonderful. A guy who
looked like he had an ulcer said he thought Jason was disgusting. A
young guy said, “White maskers, black maskers, human maskers,
skyguy maskers, straight maskers, gay maskers. They’re all
egomaniacs in tights. Who cares?” That’s one form of
acceptance.
I wanted to be with Jason. Then I
thought about Dad and the harrassment I’d get at school, and I
decided I’d done the right thing.
•
I woke on the sofa. Something
needed my attention. I had the phone to my ear before I understood
what was happening. Jason’s mom said, “Alec? Pamela Zi’Garis.” Her
voice was quietly formal, which seemed odd; I’d had dinner at their
house, and she’d been as loud and happy as her son. “Jason asked me
to call. First, you should know that he’s going to be fine, and
second—” She inhaled suddenly, then said, “He’d like to see you.
Visiting hours—”
“Where is he?” I
asked.
“Kennedy Clinic, Room
Seven-thirteen. Visiting hours—”
“Thanks.” I hung up
the phone.
Two minutes later, I set my bare
feet onto the hospital roof near the helicopter landing pad, found
an open door, flew down the stairwell to the seventh floor, scanned
the hallway for watchers, and flew into Jason’s room.
He was asleep, breathing raggedly.
Two beds had been pushed together to hold him. Two sheets had been
draped over him. In the dim light, his
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