team.
Bobby had nice, clean hands. One of them bumped against one of mine.
An accident.
I flinched because of the bruises from yesterday, not because I minded.
“You gonna hit me?” he whispered over the wet sounds of disembowelment.
Hadn’t even crossed my mind. I asked, “You worried?”
“Nah, but the usher warned me at the door. First I’d heard of it.”
So, I hadn’t successfully snuck in after all.
“Don’t worry,” Bobby said. “He promised not to tell.”
For a while, we stayed quiet, halfway down the rows, in the middle seats. If I’d judged wrong about Bobby, I’d be grateful for the witnesses. In the squeaky Starbreak chairs, I didn’t tower over him. It was nice for a change.
“Thank you,” he said, finally getting to the point. “But I could’ve handled it.”
Yeah, right. Was that why he’d come? Because he thought he owed me thanks. Because he thought I’d butted in. It was kind of disappointing. Maybe I’d just been starting to hope for more than that.
“I mean,” he went on, “if it hadn’t been two against one.”
Pride talking, I knew, but he was growing on me. Once I hit the court, I have to watch out for pride myself. Maybe it’s worse for boys.
A wolf howled through the speakers, raised its head on screen to the night’s luminous glow. It was supposed to be an agent of evil, but I didn’t see wolves that way.
“You don’t have to fall down to see the moon,” Bobby whispered, serious and shy.
Just like that, out of the starry blue. You don’t have to fall down to see the moon. I thought about the last time I’d sat in myfavorite seat beside a boy. What it must’ve been like for Bobby having to look over his shoulder all the time. Flexing my punching hand, feeling the pain. It hurts when you fight back, even if somebody else started it.
Then I thought about good times, like last night in the truck with my parents, at the Drum, at the game, right now. And good folks, too. My teasing friends. His gramma.
I felt something then. I’m not sure what you’d call it, but it was righteous, powerful. You don’t have to fall down to see the moon, I thought, turning the phrase over in my mind. Sounded like fortune cookie bullshit, but …
“Sometimes,” I said, “you do.”
WANT
TO MEET
by James Howe
Max blinks at the computer screen, the cursor blinks back at him. His belly aches. Below his belly aches even more.?
> want to meet
Alex sent the words moments ago. No question mark. Just a simple statement of desire. That’s what it was: desire. Right?
Max tells himself he’s crazy to be getting together with somebody he met online. He’s heard all the warnings. But they don’t matter now. He wants to meet. He has to. It’s a matter of survival. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.
> want to meet
> YES! / when?
> the arrowhead, nine, tonight i’ll be wearing jeans with a tear above the left knee and a t-shirt that says i am one of the people your mother warned you about
> shoes?
> one on each foot
> what kind?
> max, that is such a weird question / do you have a shoe fetish
> never mind
> don’t get testy / we haven’t even met / okay, i’ll be wearing mocs
> mocs? you don’t hunt do you?
> no way. my old man does, though. i hate him / the deer-slayer / should i not wear mocs?
> no, wear whatever you want / you know what i look like, i’ve told you enough times. still don’t get why you’ve never told me what you look like
> don’t want to get hung up on the physical
> why are we getting together then
> down, boy
> sorry. it’s just, i feel like we’ve gotten to know each other, our souls, like, and i can’t help wondering what the package for the soul looks like and if maybe we’d want to
> nine, the arrowhead / glad you didn’t finish that sentence
> i would have if i hadn’t hit send by mistake / nine / i’ll be wearing my bunny slippers
> lol. hey, max, i hope i won’t disappoint you
> you couldn’t
> don’t
Bobby had nice, clean hands. One of them bumped against one of mine.
An accident.
I flinched because of the bruises from yesterday, not because I minded.
“You gonna hit me?” he whispered over the wet sounds of disembowelment.
Hadn’t even crossed my mind. I asked, “You worried?”
“Nah, but the usher warned me at the door. First I’d heard of it.”
So, I hadn’t successfully snuck in after all.
“Don’t worry,” Bobby said. “He promised not to tell.”
For a while, we stayed quiet, halfway down the rows, in the middle seats. If I’d judged wrong about Bobby, I’d be grateful for the witnesses. In the squeaky Starbreak chairs, I didn’t tower over him. It was nice for a change.
“Thank you,” he said, finally getting to the point. “But I could’ve handled it.”
Yeah, right. Was that why he’d come? Because he thought he owed me thanks. Because he thought I’d butted in. It was kind of disappointing. Maybe I’d just been starting to hope for more than that.
“I mean,” he went on, “if it hadn’t been two against one.”
Pride talking, I knew, but he was growing on me. Once I hit the court, I have to watch out for pride myself. Maybe it’s worse for boys.
A wolf howled through the speakers, raised its head on screen to the night’s luminous glow. It was supposed to be an agent of evil, but I didn’t see wolves that way.
“You don’t have to fall down to see the moon,” Bobby whispered, serious and shy.
Just like that, out of the starry blue. You don’t have to fall down to see the moon. I thought about the last time I’d sat in myfavorite seat beside a boy. What it must’ve been like for Bobby having to look over his shoulder all the time. Flexing my punching hand, feeling the pain. It hurts when you fight back, even if somebody else started it.
Then I thought about good times, like last night in the truck with my parents, at the Drum, at the game, right now. And good folks, too. My teasing friends. His gramma.
I felt something then. I’m not sure what you’d call it, but it was righteous, powerful. You don’t have to fall down to see the moon, I thought, turning the phrase over in my mind. Sounded like fortune cookie bullshit, but …
“Sometimes,” I said, “you do.”
WANT
TO MEET
by James Howe
Max blinks at the computer screen, the cursor blinks back at him. His belly aches. Below his belly aches even more.?
> want to meet
Alex sent the words moments ago. No question mark. Just a simple statement of desire. That’s what it was: desire. Right?
Max tells himself he’s crazy to be getting together with somebody he met online. He’s heard all the warnings. But they don’t matter now. He wants to meet. He has to. It’s a matter of survival. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.
> want to meet
> YES! / when?
> the arrowhead, nine, tonight i’ll be wearing jeans with a tear above the left knee and a t-shirt that says i am one of the people your mother warned you about
> shoes?
> one on each foot
> what kind?
> max, that is such a weird question / do you have a shoe fetish
> never mind
> don’t get testy / we haven’t even met / okay, i’ll be wearing mocs
> mocs? you don’t hunt do you?
> no way. my old man does, though. i hate him / the deer-slayer / should i not wear mocs?
> no, wear whatever you want / you know what i look like, i’ve told you enough times. still don’t get why you’ve never told me what you look like
> don’t want to get hung up on the physical
> why are we getting together then
> down, boy
> sorry. it’s just, i feel like we’ve gotten to know each other, our souls, like, and i can’t help wondering what the package for the soul looks like and if maybe we’d want to
> nine, the arrowhead / glad you didn’t finish that sentence
> i would have if i hadn’t hit send by mistake / nine / i’ll be wearing my bunny slippers
> lol. hey, max, i hope i won’t disappoint you
> you couldn’t
> don’t
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