You Are Not A Stranger Here by Adam Haslett Page A

search? It's going great. I'm applying to Princeton."
    "Really?"
    "Yeah, and Harvard too."
    "Impressive."
    "And the University of Beijing."
    "Oh," he said. "That's . . . ambitious. And your new home environment, is it supportive?"
    "The maid gives me crucifixes."
    He rotated his wedding ring about his hairy knuckle and asked me if there was anyone special at the moment, and I decided he wasn't ready to hear about my life. When he asked how I felt, I said fine. This seemed to relieve him and he wrote notes for all my absences.
    55
    At last, I got a crumpled bit of paper at the bottom of my locker saying Gramm would be alone at his house on a Friday afternoon. I left school early that day and walked the two miles to his house. When I rang the doorbell there was no answer and I sat for an hour on the front lawn before I saw Gramm coming up the hill. He spotted me from a hundred yards and slowed his pace. When he reached the driveway he gave a nod and then stood mute for a minute or two, glancing from the tarmac to the house to me. He looked tired and nervous. When he headed for the back door, I followed him inside. In the kitchen, Gramm hesitated by the sink and from the way he hunched over it, I thought he might be sick to his stomach.
    "What's the matter?" I asked.
    "Why did you come?" His voice had no sarcasm in it now. The question plagued him.
    "I got your note," I said softly, knowingly, the way I imagined a lover would speak of such things. He bowed his head, shamed by the memory, and as I saw his cheeks redden I felt a pity for him so overwhelming it brought tears to my eyes. I crossed the room and laid a hand gently on his shoulder. His body convulsed as though my fingers were the live ends of a power cord. He jerked from under my touch, reaching back to swat away my arm. I stepped forward again and placed a hand on his chest.
    "Don't touch me!" he shouted.
    I ran my fingers through his golden hair.
    His fist smashed into my stomach and I grabbed at his 56
    upper arm with both hands but he shook himself free and pushed me onto the floor. I rolled onto my belly and lay silent, my erection throbbing against the hard tiles.
    With my eyes closed, I imagined him as a gladiator, wearing breastplate and shield, the sun warming his full shoulders, the crowd cheering him on. With a nod of the head, the emperor tells his champion to give the people what they want. I smell the bronzed skin of his ankle, listen to the masses roar.
    Behind me, the cupboard opened and I heard his lips on the mouth of a bottle.
    "Get up," he said.
    I made no response, and he yelled again--"Get up!"--
    kicking me in the flank. But I held my ground.
    Twice more the force of his shoe nearly lifted me off the floor, stripping my mind of everything but this lucid pain. His voice filled the void.
    "Garbage," he whispered. "You're garbage."
    He crouched over me and using both hands yanked my pants down from my waist. Standing, he pressed the toe of his shoe between my legs. "My father says people like you are sick. You've got some kind of moral sickness. Like you want to be a woman but you're just a weak, puny shit of a boy and everything your sick mind wants is dirt."
    He removed his shoe from between the cheeks of my ass and kicked me there, forcing water into my eyes. But I made no sound.
    "Talk to me, you little fuck!" he shouted.
    Something heavy and sharp edged struck my back and I 57
    couldn't help letting out a groan. Across the kitchen floor, the tabby cat stared.
    I heard Gramm take up the bottle again and leave the room.
    For some time, I lay quiet. My side ached and I could feel blood leaking from the cut. The sound of television echoed in the other room. I got up and stepping out of my crumpled pants walked half naked into the den. On the TV screen, cops pinned down a Latino man who was yelling something as a group of small children wailed on the shoulder of a freeway. The shuddering of a helicopter's wings muffled the voices. A giant recliner