agreed with Backwards Baseball. "Have you ever even had a haircut that made you look like a guy, Cooter?"
Rodeo and Backwards Baseball howled with laughter. The Boy laughed, kind of. He really was kind of ugly. Calling someone ugly, when they are, is like calling a retarded kid retarded. It's not funny, when it's true at all. Then, it's just mean. Since Rodeo and Backwards Baseball were both attractive, it was even meaner.
The coffee guy, cleaning his urns, yelled over the counter, "Let's hear one, Adam! Play something!"
The Boy took a drink before tilting the neck of the guitar into his hand. He didn't clear his throat or anything. He just began to play and sing, all at once. It was a screw you kind of song, his tone hollow and dark as a gun barrel, accompanied by an acceptable rage in the chords. But his actual voice was this beautiful, golden rod—sharp and pointed so that it speared the air and lit it up and made it hum with his electricity. It might as well have been magic. I think the other boys mistook the song as just being cool. I heard it as The Boy's finger in the air to both of them.
When he was done, I drifted across the shop to get a refill. Rodeo made a noise when I passed, so his friends would look up. I was never the kind of girl that wanted to be spotted. I didn't want any conversations that led to asking why I wasn't home at this hour. Nothing that would make me wonder what my mother would think of what I was doing. But, this one time, as Backwards Baseball made some muffled murmur about how Cooter shouldn't even bother looking, I turned my eyes on The Boy and saw how the little scars on his face grew a little paler as the skin around them flushed pink. He wasn't ugly to me at all.
"That was an awesome song," I said. The words just fell out, the only ones in a usually word-crowded room, and I snapped my mouth shut. The Boy tipped down the neck of his guitar and his blush drained away. He smiled.
"Thanks," he said.
I went back to my table and tried not to pay attention to the boys huddling and laughing and slapping The Boy on the back. I tried not to notice them looking in my direction. They finally all got up to leave, and The Boy let Backwards Baseball and Rodeo go out the door, while he stayed back, dumping cups in the trash, while he tried to catch my eye.
One glance was all it took and he smiled at me again. I smiled back. He came over and asked if he could sit down. It’s funny how an ugly person can become the most handsome, just by how he looked at me and listened and smiled when I spoke.
He is even thinner now and he's living in a strange apartment across the street. He was once The Boy with the Golden Rod Voice. We're both different now. Neither of us is who we were before, but he is still the boy I once knew.
And by that, I mean, a demon.
***
I scuttle backward, dropping my wings flat to my back, gaping. The Boy with the Golden Rod Voice is in the building across the street.
Once he'd asked me, "Do you love me?" while my hair was draped over the edges of the toilet seat. I'd glanced up at him, his arms knotted over his chest, his lips as empty as old inner tubes.
"You don't know?” I'd asked, but the retching seized me again. I meant to say of course, more than life, you're everything to me, I'm nothing without you, and I think I love you more than people can love each other. But I couldn't say any of it with my muscles squeezing my throat shut. Even my body seemed to know that such a confession was like poison in the air. It would drive him away with its stench. And then it would kill me.
"Then you have to go,” he said. "Quick. Before it's too late and we can't do anything about it."
I wiped my mouth with one hand. "Why can't we just have it? People do. People get by."
He let his shoulders drop against the bathroom wall, shook his
Rodeo and Backwards Baseball howled with laughter. The Boy laughed, kind of. He really was kind of ugly. Calling someone ugly, when they are, is like calling a retarded kid retarded. It's not funny, when it's true at all. Then, it's just mean. Since Rodeo and Backwards Baseball were both attractive, it was even meaner.
The coffee guy, cleaning his urns, yelled over the counter, "Let's hear one, Adam! Play something!"
The Boy took a drink before tilting the neck of the guitar into his hand. He didn't clear his throat or anything. He just began to play and sing, all at once. It was a screw you kind of song, his tone hollow and dark as a gun barrel, accompanied by an acceptable rage in the chords. But his actual voice was this beautiful, golden rod—sharp and pointed so that it speared the air and lit it up and made it hum with his electricity. It might as well have been magic. I think the other boys mistook the song as just being cool. I heard it as The Boy's finger in the air to both of them.
When he was done, I drifted across the shop to get a refill. Rodeo made a noise when I passed, so his friends would look up. I was never the kind of girl that wanted to be spotted. I didn't want any conversations that led to asking why I wasn't home at this hour. Nothing that would make me wonder what my mother would think of what I was doing. But, this one time, as Backwards Baseball made some muffled murmur about how Cooter shouldn't even bother looking, I turned my eyes on The Boy and saw how the little scars on his face grew a little paler as the skin around them flushed pink. He wasn't ugly to me at all.
"That was an awesome song," I said. The words just fell out, the only ones in a usually word-crowded room, and I snapped my mouth shut. The Boy tipped down the neck of his guitar and his blush drained away. He smiled.
"Thanks," he said.
I went back to my table and tried not to pay attention to the boys huddling and laughing and slapping The Boy on the back. I tried not to notice them looking in my direction. They finally all got up to leave, and The Boy let Backwards Baseball and Rodeo go out the door, while he stayed back, dumping cups in the trash, while he tried to catch my eye.
One glance was all it took and he smiled at me again. I smiled back. He came over and asked if he could sit down. It’s funny how an ugly person can become the most handsome, just by how he looked at me and listened and smiled when I spoke.
He is even thinner now and he's living in a strange apartment across the street. He was once The Boy with the Golden Rod Voice. We're both different now. Neither of us is who we were before, but he is still the boy I once knew.
And by that, I mean, a demon.
***
I scuttle backward, dropping my wings flat to my back, gaping. The Boy with the Golden Rod Voice is in the building across the street.
Once he'd asked me, "Do you love me?" while my hair was draped over the edges of the toilet seat. I'd glanced up at him, his arms knotted over his chest, his lips as empty as old inner tubes.
"You don't know?” I'd asked, but the retching seized me again. I meant to say of course, more than life, you're everything to me, I'm nothing without you, and I think I love you more than people can love each other. But I couldn't say any of it with my muscles squeezing my throat shut. Even my body seemed to know that such a confession was like poison in the air. It would drive him away with its stench. And then it would kill me.
"Then you have to go,” he said. "Quick. Before it's too late and we can't do anything about it."
I wiped my mouth with one hand. "Why can't we just have it? People do. People get by."
He let his shoulders drop against the bathroom wall, shook his
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