Unafraid – Novella Four - 2. Part 2: Gloria

Part 2: Gloria

I unknot my fingers and look towards the vestry door. Soon Stevie will come out with his penance, find a pew to sequester himself, say his Hail Marys and Our Fathers, and then no doubt feel absolved. But, after I've done the same procedure, will I?

Outside these stuffy, enclosed church confines, the spring winds carry kites aloft, and enrich the air with the fragrance of blooming plants.

On the walls between the thirty-foot high Victorian stained glass windows are enclosed frames. These are about a foot thick so that the main image can be shown in high relief. The space between every window is replete with one of these: the Stations of the Cross. The one nearest to me is a scene from late in the Passion – Jesus is stripped before being nailed to the cross – and the soldiers are playing dice to win his clothes.

Instead of fresh air, the only scent in this church comes from the smell of living light – the one wick behind red glass at the altar.

I wonder if Jesus, being laid bare at the moment, had a chance to look around and consider the spring day upon which he would die. April, I assume, or late March, I bet the wild flowers were out and flaunting their colors to the sunshine. I wonder if Christ had a moment to inhale their fragrance – to enjoy their honey, so to speak – before continuing on his personal sacrifice.

Somewhere, in the springtime of the liturgy, sweet words are on our lips as a congregation. They are words like: "We praise You;" "We bless You;" "We adore You;" "We glorify You."

And sometimes, it does feel that an otherwise greedy and self-absorbed God blesses us in return.

Such was the feeling a couple days after I spoke with Jodie on the gym steps. What happened was on the edge of dangerous, and at some point – or at several moments – I was truly scared, but nevertheless, it was a sweet taste of honey, of celebration, and of the praise of life. And, it was so unexpected.

˚˚˚˚˚

School was over and I could enjoy my walk home. At three in the afternoon, the jasmine clinging to an old cast-iron fence at a house near the Saint Lazarus church filled the entire area with the heat of its springtime scent.

The sun was warm on the top of my blond, crew-cut head. My step was lively over the paving seams of the sidewalks, because I never forget that old rhyme: 'Step on a crack; break your mother's back.'

My book bag with its strap on my shoulder hardly felt a burden as I crossed the street. The circulating air promoted the fresh re-circulation of my blood stymied and settled as it was by hours of enclosure and inane schoolwork.

I walked the block next to the Victorian brick building where I was born. It was the original hospital, but it's now used to house retired nuns, and those who teach at Saint Lazarus, or do nursing. The new Saint Roch Hospital opened a couple of years after I was born, and is on the other side of the building, and half a block down. From where I walked, I could glance to my right and see the church on the other side of the street. The tall-peeked windows marched along the long wall stately and proud. Those same windows also dwarfed the blooming Judas tree that grows by the steps leading up to the side door of the church.

At the corner, I would turn left and walk towards West Main Street and the direction of home.

As I neared it, I saw the shadow of a figure. This person had his back turned towards me, and leaned against the tall stone foundation of the nun's house with his left shoulder. A little halo of cigarette smoke soon drifted up and beyond his fair-colored and medium-length hair. Approaching closer, he shifted slightly and I saw he held a couple of thick schoolbooks – high school books – with his right hand and propped against the waistband of his chinos.

It was Terry, Jodie's boyfriend, and apparently he was waiting to meet up with her.

As I rounded the corner of the sidewalk, I glanced over to him.

He jutted his chin up and met my eyes.

"Hey," he said, and was fairly friendly.

I stopped walking. A grass margin separated us by about twelve feet. He stood tall, dropped and twisted out his cigarette butt in the moist grass.

He shifted his books to his other hand and casually began to walk towards me.

I said, "Jodie started walking towards the high school." I pointed down the street, past the front of the church, as if Terry didn't know where he went to school. I was feeling a bit nervous for some reason. This guy's cool was formidable, and the closer he came to me, the more impenetrable it seemed.

He got to the sidewalk, and emerged into the full sunlight. His hair was a bit lighter than I suspected – a dirty blond with sparkling highlights. His face was calm, and there did not seem much opportunity for his full lips to part fully into a smile. But, as I say, that intimidation factor, which appeared to ride shotgun to his every intention, was borne out by his three or four inches of height on me, and a chest of athletic strength barely masked by the knit pastel of his polo shirt.

"If you run," I told him. "You could probably catch up with her."

He made a momentary motion with his mouth, like he was about to lick his lips, but he didn’t. Terry's head turned a profile to me as he looked down the path to where Jodie was walking away from us.

Coming back to me, his blue eyes blinked once; his lips took on a not-too friendly scowl.

"And which way are you going?"

Like a dolt, I could feel my right arm involuntarily rise and point. "Home," I said. "That way."

"Cool. I'll walk with you."

I shrugged: "Ok."

We started walking in silence, but I couldn't help stealing some glances at him. He held himself so proud, and strode with such repose. I consciously lifted my upper spine to remove my slight walking slouch, and slowed my arms down to the almost non-existent swing Terry exhibited.

By the time we approached the middle of the block, where the now-unused 'front door' of the old hospital was, Terry was glancing at me too. I thought I saw rigidity set itself as firmly as the Gothic stone tracery I glimpsed passing behind his face. Did he look angry? I could not convince myself that he did.

I stared trying to lighten the mood.

"Boy! It sure feels good to get out of those stuffy classrooms, huh!"

He did not reply, other than to watch me continually.

"Um," I went on. "I hate being cooped up all day long. I love the freedom of the fresh – "

He cut me off.

"You're Simon, right?"

"Yes. How do you know who I am?"

"From Jodie."

"Oh. Cool."

He looked ahead, and we walked on for another half-block in silence. I felt his tension build, and I wondered if I was in some sort of trouble with him.

At the next corner, the block opened up. From here until West Main Street there were a few blocks of Victorian houses, all of them set back from the street and its sidewalks with broad lawns, trees, and spring blooms.

As we crossed the street, Terry suddenly gestured down it. At its end, a block away, was the slick 1970's entry to Saint Roch, our new hospital. He asked me, "Ever been in there?"

"Nope."

"I have. That's where they fixed up my broken arm." His tone became menacing. "You ever have your arm broken?"

He was staring me cold in the eye with his searing blue gaze.

I swallowed down a bitter, fearful lump. I shook my head in a slow and calculating way.

He half-sneered: "It sucks. You don't want to even be in a position where you get your arm broken. Trust me."

We regained the sidewalk and I wondered if I could come up with an excuse to turn around. As we passed by the gate to the first house on the block, Terry asked me, "Did Jodie mention me to you?"

"Yes, she did."

"What did she say?"

Oh shoot. I couldn't tell him that Jodie conveyed what a fine kisser he is. "Um, she said you're cool."

"Funny."

"What is?"

"That's what she told me about you. She say anything else?"

"Um, well, I guess it's no secret, but she really likes you. Loves you, I suppose."

This seemed to soften his formally-composed exterior a bit, as I thought I saw his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

"What else do you know about me? Stuff you may have heard from others, and not Jodie."

I felt the corner of my mouth raise into a grin. "You mean, your 'extra-curricular' activities?"

"Yep."

"I've heard you have a supply, and it's one you're willing to share for some cash. Is that true?"

"How old are you?"

"Same as Jodie: thirteen."

"Then you should be old enough to know better."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're old enough to keep a secret, right?"

"Yes. I am."

"Then, look."

He fished in his chinos pocket with his left hand. Terry pulled up something crinkled and plastic. We stopped walking, and he held a small sandwich bag up before my eyes.

In it were several pills. Some were candy-apple red and small, while others were a drab green, and quite a bit bigger.

In my mind suddenly a weird overlap occurred. Terry's sharp and stylish Gap clothes came from his aside money. It made sense now, as to get them he had to get to the mall, and Sainte Claire Centre is a 30-minute drive away.

"What are they?" I reached up my hand, and wound up cupping the older boy's hand in my own. As he shifted the baggie in his hand, his glance scanned up and down the public walkway. No one was around, so he told me, "Red ones are speed. Green ones are ludes."

I licked my lips, blinked and stared him in his sharp baby blues. His hand was warm and steady as a rock where I supported it. "Can I touch?"

I felt that 'too long' impulse, and disengaged our physical contact.

"Not yet." He inhaled, pocketed them and made a motion like he was going to start walking away again. I reached out to stop him, and had to re-shoulder my heavy bag. I forgot all about the fact that I should be frightened for the health of my arm.

Like a yappy puppy, I pestered him: "What are they called again?"

He began walking.

"Uppers and downers. Ever hear of that?"

I caught up. "Nope."

"Ever had any?"

"Un uh."

The sun glinted off his hair; I never thought Terry appeared more god-like. He teased me: "But you wanna try, don’t you?"

"Maybe." Truth was, I did.

"Well, maybe you can – on the house – on one condition." A creeping menace returned to his voice.

We walked on.

Finally, I said, "What's your condition?"

Terry whipped around the sidewalk to completely block my passage. His movement was so swift and sudden, I continued to walk almost straight into his chest. His hand lashed out and violently jostled my upper right arm. My book bag, propelled by the heavy force from within, tumbled off my shoulder and partially grated its strap over bare skin. It landed with an awful plunk on Terry's gripping hand.

Through my initial shock, my mouth opened to gasp, and my sight caught a nearly crazed look sputter around the corners of his glare.

His voice was loud, demanding: "That you tell me little man the truth. You got a plan to take my girl from me!"

All surprise and tension left me in one breathless and relieved sigh. "Um, no dude!" I sort of felt like laughing, but held that back; instead, I read the reaction of my hapless smile in Terry's eyes. His tight grip loosened a bit.

I explained: "I like Jodie as a friend. And that’s all."

Some blinking recognition quarried his features as he released me completely. I caught the strap of my school bag before it crashed to the pavement.

"So," he stammered in the first display of a lack of coolness. "You like, girls, as friends."

"Yes. Just friends."

It was clear that this teen boy got my message, but whether he thought it was due to me being young and stupid, or for that other reason, I could not gauge.

What I could tell was his relief. And then, over it or under it, was another element. Like his loss of reserve, it was new and unseen before, and to my questioning scan of his face, read like nervous fascination.

"So," he started and quickly collected himself. "I'm glad we got that out of the way."

"Why?"

"Cuz, Jodie said you're a cool kid, that I'd like you, and now I can see she knows what she's talking about."

I didn't quite know what to say to that.

Terry scanned the walkway again, and swallowed audibly. "Um, do you have to get straight home, or anything?"

"Nope."

"Um, I know a place – where we can talk – you know. But you gotta promise not to blab about it."

"I won't tell."

"I'll take you, but remember, it's my secret place, ok?"

"Got it, Terry." I reassured him, "You can count on me."

˚˚˚˚˚

Judas Tree Public Park is off West Main Street, and on the far edge of town. Neighbored on one side by the golf course, and on the other by the non-Catholic cemetery, it is a sprawling twenty acres of grasslands and shady wooded margins. In summer, the public swimming pool – and its ice cream shack companion – are always crawling with park-goers.

But, as the pool hadn't opened for the season yet, the park was quiet as Terry and me walked its winding paths.

From the street, you could see the lawn dotted with freestanding picnic tables and barbecue grills on iron rods stuck in the ground, but as you made your way into the park, then you become aware of its secrets.

The same creek that twisted its way around to run over the property of Saint Lazarus School, also cut a broad curve through the park. Tall grassy berms smoothed the margins from path and grass to rippling water, and the sound of it was what Terry and I heard as we walked deeper and deeper into the park.

Blossoming trees – avenues of Judas trees – and beds of daffodils and crocus sweetened the air.

I could tell he was appreciating the sights, sounds and smells as much as me. He passed me an occasional glance and smile, real ones this time, like he was slowly letting himself drop clothes as we continued to stroll.

˚˚˚˚˚

The air up here was stale, and rather stagnant.

It turned out Terry's 'secret place' was pretty familiar to me.

Tucked in an area near the stream, and set back close to the woods, was a play fort.

Red logs stood vertical at its base and lifted up an enclosed room about twelve-foot square.

That's where we came. Up the ladder, and into this room with a pointy roof, where the walls were stacked logs, one on top of the other, like life-sized Lincoln Logs. Little gaps in the log walls formed claustrophobic windows, because these openings did not let in much light or air.

We dropped our books in one corner by the stairs. Terry immediately sat with his back against the wall, and pulled up his knees. He became introspective and fiddled with a piece of lint he possibly plucked from his pant cuff. His gray suede boat shoes looked a lot more comfortable than my brown leather 'school shoes.'

I paced around, still feeling a bit of that residue nervousness.

I made a circuit of all the windows, and chatted away.

"This is a cool place. Look, you can see the church steeple – "

He cut me off. "Simon. Come here a sec."

I walked to him, and stood in front of the high school boy.

He looked up, squinted slightly, and extracted his magic baggie.

I squatted on my knees.

"Now, it's your first time, so I'm gonna…" His fingers pulled open the plastic bi-color seam of the bag. "…Give you just half of one." He took out a red pill, and squeezed it tight with his two index fingers and thumbs until it snapped. "Here." He held out the right half. "Take it."

I pinched it from his fingertips, and watched him swallow the other half.

I opened up, tilted my head back, and felt the red-hot shit drop on the back of my tongue. I gulped it down and tried to ignore the slightly dry and bitter taste of its exposed and jagged edge.

I stood up. I didn't know what I expected, so I asked.

"Now what?"

"Now, nothing. It's not acid, or anything instant. You'll need a few minutes for it to work. Don’t expect too much anyway."

While I watched him extract and swallow another whole red pill, I monitored myself for some 'drug effect.' Nothing.

I waited a few minutes and then went back to looking out the windows. The sights looked the same, I thought. I felt like, like chatting. It was too quiet up here; Terry seemed too sad.

"You know," I said, popping to the next window slit. "My dad says this park used to be the city dump. On weekday evenings, he and his buddy…"

I did think there was something extra green about the grass I could see from the window.

"…Like to take their metal detectors and find forks…"

Yes – the woods too – beautiful. And every motion from the April breeze animated the leaves like a million, impossible algebraic equations; like it was all understandable, but kept out of the reach of our minds so it would not drive us to madness.

"…They dig up medicine bottles – and once…"

I had to find Terry and tell him directly – it seemed urgent.

"…My dad found an old cream bottle with the words 'Judas Tree Dairy Company' on it."

Terry lifted his sad eyes to mine. Into them I concluded, feeling elated, "He let me keep that one!"

"Cool." He nodded his head slowly, and suddenly I wondered what was wrong with him. I felt great!

I plopped down and sat Indian-style right in front of him.

"What's the matter, Terry?"

My mind was burning on high octane, and the object of its attention was right before me. Jodie's boyfriend was mysterious, and yet – even though he didn't say much – charming. He was sexy and cool, a sharp dresser whose upscale clothes only accentuated his bad-boy persona rather than hide it. Though he was dark blond and blue-eyed, there was something about his controlled mellowness that felt dark and dangerous. Something like that of a caged lion pacing his pen with studied calm, just waiting out his opportunities to strike.

He folded his legs, rested his wrists on his knees and held my gaze frankly.

"I feel bad, man."

"Ah, Terry. Are you sick?"

"That's not what I mean."

"Then, what is it?"

"I, ah…" He glanced at my hands for a moment. "I…ah…shouldn't have laid a hand on you. I'm sorry."

"It's no big deal." I smiled wide open.

"You mean that?"

"Yes. It's all over now."

"Well. I hope you and I can be friends."

"You do..?" My smile drifted away, for somehow that sadness in him seemed to deepen.

"Yes. I think you're, really nice. I can see why Jodie talks about you so much."

"She's a sweet girl. I think she's lucky to have you."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Why not? You're nice too."

"Look, Simon. About what I said, and about what you said – did you mean it?"

I was confused. "Which part?"

"It's just – I guess – I was jealous, jealous of you and Jodie's closeness. She talks about you a lot, and I guess that I was thinking I didn't particularly like that. I, I wanted to scare you."

I laughed: "Yeah, that part I got!"

"I know. I thought I had to frighten you away from her. But, turns out, that's not necessary, is it..?"

"Nope."

He continued in a more tender, searching tone. "But, there's no reason, is there, Simon..? There's no reason I should be jealous, is there?"

Wow. He gave me a vertigo feeling of deja vu – didn't he just ask that, and didn't I say 'nope'? Wait – I suppose he was asking me more than I got the first time. So I concentrated on my answer, and tried not to spit it out too fast.

"Like I said, I like Jodie as a friend. That's all."

He grinned at me. "How do you feel, man?"

What a silly question. "I feel good!"

"You look good. Did you know the speed was working?"

"It is?!"

He laughed outright, and looked beautiful. "Yep. It sure is."

'Well,' I thought to myself. 'I don’t feel much different.' But then again, my problems did seem pretty far away. Maybe that's what getting high means. I didn’t know, and quite frankly, didn't care.

"You know," I told Terry, pointing to a spot over my shoulder. "One time I was up here, and some guy had laid a doogie in that corner."

"A what!"

"You know, taken a dump. Left a turd. Deposited a – "

"Ok!" Terry laughed with upraised hands. "I get it now."

"Yeah. I'm glad they cleaned it up."

"Well of course they would."

"Hey, you want to see something cool!"

"What, Simon."

"This!" I pulled my little green notebook from my back pocket. I flipped through the pages till I came to Jodie's blue-ink handwriting. I kept it open to the page and pressed the book into his hand. As he looked at it and smiled, I proudly told him, "Jodie told me you write poetry, and wrote that out for me. I've learned it in two days, looking at it every chance I get."

Terry seemed skeptical. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! Here, you read along – I can prove it!"

He chuckled: "Well, I did write it, so I know it, but go ahead, you recite it."

As I rapped it to him, I thought, truth be told, I had never said so many bad words out loud, and at the same time, but I felt proud to do it for Terry.

"Very impressive, Simon." He closed the notebook. As he was handing it back, I reached out my hand, saying, "She says you write a lot of them. Can I hear another?" I took my notebook back.

"Are you sure you're in the mood – "

I cut him off with an enthusiastic: "Yes!"

A cloud of thought rolled over his eyes a moment. "Well, here's one I've been toying with."

He swallowed, cleared his throat, then stiffened his upper back against the fort wall.

"This is called a limerick."

"Ok."

He started:

"There once was a whore from Nantucket,

Whose dank smelled like fish in a bucket.

Men could tell her a mile away,

But she'd always ask them to stay,

Pinching their nose closed while they fucked it."

"Wow!" I was giddy. "That's amazing! You're a great writer. Wish I could do that."

"Well. You be careful who you tell those to. A lot of people get upset over trivial stuff."

"Yeah. Ok. I won't get you in trouble. I promise."

"Good." He seemed sad again. "Besides, that stuff's just for fun. It's not my real poetry."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, can I hear one of your 'real' poems?"

"You sure?"

"Yes. Come on, Terry. Please. If you want me to keep it a secret, I will."

"Um… you won't tell Jodie?"

"No. If that's what you want, then I won't tell Jodie. Cross my heart."

I did so with a finger X-ing my chest to prove that I was serious.

Again, Terry straightened his spine. He started slow and low:

"Shadows creep up my wall to say

The time is ticking fast on me

And though I wait, it's long in the day

To have so many doubts about me –

To weigh me down, and not be free.

Questions crawl up my heart inside

Where no one sees, not even me

The shadow's pace that I long to hide."

"Man, that was beautiful." And it was. Terry had touched close to the core of my own personal feelings of isolation and loneliness.

He glanced everywhere but at me. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes. Yes – I know it's beautiful."

"Ok. Thank you. Now you can see what I mean when I talk about my real poetry."

"Yes." Somehow I felt sad too.

"Simon. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Back when you said you only liked Jodie as a friend, does that feeling also apply to all girls? For you, I mean."

"Um…" I hesitated.

"You don’t like girls in any other way, do you?"

"No. I don’t."

"Then, how do you feel about, guys?"

"I like 'em."

"Like 'em? Like, really, like 'em?"

I swallowed hard. "Yeah. Really, really like 'em."

There was some silence. Terry just studied his hands.

Something in me made me rise to my feet.

Terry jerked his sight up like he had done something wrong, and was afraid. Then he slowly nodded, and murmured: "That's cool."

I stood there. Did he really just say that? Yep. He did; there was no mistake.

He let out a kind of unforced sigh, and I went over to one of the windows slits. Beyond some trees, the public pool was quiet and shuttered.

Terry stood and as silently as a cat came to lean on the fort wall just to my right.

His upper back was flat on the wall, and so was the head he rotated to me when I gazed at him.

I couldn't lie to myself. I was afraid of this boy. Thoughts of a panicked but calm lion pacing his cage again crept into my mind. As the late afternoon sun warmed my cheek turned to it, I reassured him, "Yes. I like Jodie, but not in the way – "

"Can you please – just for now – not talk about her?"

"Um. Yes. I was just gonna say – "

His gaze took on a cold glint. "That you don’t like girls in the way I do."

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Because – did you ever stop to think – that could be a wrong assumption?" His hands went flat to press against the fort wall at the small of his back.

As my eyes faltered momentarily to his belt buckle, I stammered, "I just meant, I'd never like them in a way, that, I might like you."

Terry paused in his motions. He bit his lip and appeared to let something sink in.

I was forced to consider if I was afraid of Terry again, for his hand formed into a fist behind him. Maybe I should be scared, but with the same kind of clarity that let me see the intensity of the grass down below, I could perceive how Terry felt. In him was something more afraid of me than I could ever be of him. Under this high school sophomore's placid exterior, I knew that boy's heart was pounding just as hard as mine was in my own ears.

Terry relaxed his hand again, and lifted blinking eyes to me.

I asked him, "Why did you want to talk to me, after you found out? I mean, after you grabbed me and learned, what you did?"

I turned to lean on the wall like him, my hands stayed loose at my sides.

He sighed real gentle; a soft gesture of giving up. "She said you were nice. And, you are. She said I would like you."

I glanced down. The fingers of his right hand were slowly inching their way over the rough grooves and textures of the fort's log wall. They moved slowly towards me; towards me and my left hand.

"And do you? Do you like me?" I asked.

Terry reached across the small gap between us. He picked up my hand, and gently turned it. He laced our fingers together, and nodded with an acceptance that sank down into a slow, awkward, but beautiful smile.

"Yes," he finally said.

Our fingers played awhile. Terry did a move: leaned to his left, and pulled me by the hand to close the gap between us. I scootched over so our flanks touched from foot to shoulder, and then some, because he used my hand to lift and rest my forearm on his thigh. He had kicked his foot up to form a shelf for me. The fabric of his chinos was softer than I anticipated, and here at this distance, I could say his scent was softer than I thought too. It was sort of like an old-fashioned licorice candy, but one that you know has a sweet center.

Terry grew pensive again. He just stared at our interlinked hands on top of his leg. As he slowly manipulated my fingers, some nameless misery resurfaced on the teen's handsome features.

I wanted to help him. "What is it, man? You’re so quiet."

He half smiled. "Sorry. Habit, I guess. It's just that when I'm up here like this, after school, I'm always alone – always thinking up here – in the quiet, in this closed-off room where maybe I feel I have the best chance to figure stuff out."

"You mean, figure yourself out?"

He shrugged like I had hurt him.

"Ah, Terry. Don’t worry, man. You are about the best put-together guy I know."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yep. I do."

He said overly serious, "I don’t mind sharing with you Simon, cuz, even though we just met, I think you and I have some kind of connection."

"Yeah. I feel that way too."

"So, what I'm saying is, this is my secret spot. I trust you not to tell anyone, not even Jodie."

I crossed my heart by lifting his hand, extending his index finger, and making him touch an 'X' over my shirt pocket. I felt his contact like friction directly on my skin. "I swear. Our secret, ok?"

He nodded, obviously much relieved.

Then he slowly brought our linked hands over towards his chest. He rotated it, and gently drew the back of my wrist over his cheek. Holding my eyes, he then kissed it once.

"Maybe," he said, the breath warm as velvet touching the skin of one of my most sensitive areas. "I'm willing to think of this as our secret spot. You like that idea?"

I nodded, a breath catching in my throat. "You know, I always noticed you; noticed how you walk down the sidewalk going past our school."

His head tilted a moment, and he lowered my hand slightly. "Get outta here."

"Nah," I laughed. "It's true. You are always so, I don’t know – don’t laugh at me – so, 'noble.' Does that sound like bullcrap? Because, it's not. As I say, it's easy to see why…" I almost said 'Jodie.' "Why, people are drawn to you."

Without any warning, Terry opened his fingers and let my hand drop.

"People? Girls, you mean."

"Yeah, girls. But not only them."

My fear of the potential unknown of this boy suddenly returned. I said, "Hey. I'm sorry. No offense, I mean – "

His eyebrows tilted disbelief at me. "Offense? You gave me a compliment. Simon, tell me now, straight up. Are you saying..?" He trailed off.

"I'm saying that I like you, man."

It looked like I had hurt him again, but this time his tone was tender and reaching. "I like you too. Like, I really like you."

Terry's fingers went up to my cheek, the one warmed by the sun at the open window. He slowly, hesitatingly touched me there. His hands were dry and steady as a rock. I fancied that I could almost feel his heartbeat through the few millimeters of contact our flesh made.

Our heads came together. I paused, nervous. "I…I never kissed before…"

"Just, shush." He reached up, and with two gentle fingertips to my eyelids to reassure me. "Just stop thinking now. Close your eyes. And…" His lips brushed mine. I could feel his words on my upper lip, as he whispered: "Just…let…it…happen…"

His mouth enclosed mine. At first it was so tender, and suddenly a diffuse licorice taste was wreathing my palate, and my nostrils too. He breathed out, and moisture from him bathed the area of cheek around my nose. His hand gripped me from under my chin and softly guided my face to turn so he could kiss me deeper.

My throat bobbed its Adam's apple, my hands gripped at his strong upper arms and he breathed harder, and pressed himself firmer into me.

Our lips began to part, and a glossy and delicate wetness arose there, just to be instantly cooled by our rapidly increasing respiration.

Terry wobbled on his feet. Keeping his lips on mine, he stepped in front of me and used the weight of his bent forearms to press into me and pin me against the fort wall. Then, like in slow motion, the rest of his torso pressed against mine.

His hands lifted to the side of my head. His touch lingered on my ears and made a sandy sound as he held me, pulled me closer, and towered over me with his form.

And that was it, the perfect analogy. I felt the sand particles urged by gravity to seek the larger and more copious vessel were like the thoughts running out of my head.

My lips parted. I inhaled his candied breath straight from his lungs, and my mind reeled down to nothingness as his tongue made contact with the outer rim of my lips.

I pushed him back a tiny bit, and used my hands to grip onto his body just below his arms. The light sweat from his underarms anointed the top of my hands.

My fingers began to explore his front – his chest, his arms, his waist – and our kissing continued, only now, it was open-mouthed.

The first time our tongues met, it was as equals, but soon, I let the older boy have free reign to explore and dominate me as deeply as he wanted.

His arms slid around my waist, drawing me tightly. And his breathing now seemed to caress all sides of my face at once.

It was so glorious. I don’t ever remember feeling so alive as when Terry kissed me; it was the first kiss I ever felt.