Space

By Keith Hale

When a young boy at a bowling alley has his cheeseburger delivered by a handsome future air force cadet, an infatuation develops so strong that three years later, when he learns the older boy's home town, he sets off on his bike to find him. The relationship that develops between the two boys is one of the most heart-warming and seductive in coming of age literature. Keith Hale, the author of Cody known for his honest portrayals of young adult lives and sexuality, has written a beautiful story with characters readers will want to befriend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Watersgreen House
• Release date: Aug 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463793756

Keith Hale

Keith Hale grew up in central Arkansas and Waco, Texas. He received his bachelor’s degree from the University of Texas at Austin. Following a five-year career as a journalist in Austin, Amsterdam, and Little Rock, Hale earned a Ph.D. in literature from Purdue and took a position teaching British and Philippine literature at the University of Guam. Hale writes both fiction and scholarly works including his groundbreaking novel Clicking Beat on the Brink of Nada (Cody), first published in the Netherlands, and Friends and Apostles, his edition of Rupert Brooke's letters published by Yale University Press, London.

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SPACE

Keith Hale

Copyright © 2022 by Keith Hale

All rights reserved. International copyright secured.

6 x 9 (15.24 x 22.86 cm) 

Black & White on Cream paper

BISAC: Fiction / Coming of Age /

BISAC: Fiction / Gay

Cover photo © Ben Gingell | Dreamstime.com

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission of the publisher is punishable by law. Purchase only authorized editions.

All characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental. Any real entities such as universities, townships, and athletic teams appearing within these pages do not imply cooperation with or endorsement of or by the author, publisher, or work.

Watersgreen House is an independent international book publisher with editorial staff in the UK and USA. One of our aims at Watersgreen House is to showcase same-sex affection in works by important gay and bisexual authors in ways which were not possible at the time the books were originally published. We also publish nonfiction, including textbooks, as well as contemporary fiction that is literary, unusual, and provocative.

Audiobook © Keith Hale. Narrated by Ian Stewart Riley. Recorded and produced by Ian Stewart Riley & Keith Hale in Los Angeles.

Watersgreen House, Publishers.

Visit us at watersgreen.wix.com/watersgreenhouse

Space

Chapter One

I spent my childhood in a small town in the middle of Texas. Most of the residents, like my own family, are descended from the Bohemia region of the Czech Republic. Bohemia. Bohemian. It’s funny what that word has come to connote because most of the Bohemians I’ve known are anything but bohemian. Some of the Czechs came to America for better economic opportunity; some to avoid being conscripted into the Austrian Empire’s army. But the people I grew up around were not musicians and poets living in voluntary poverty and wandering around the country. If anything, they were noteworthy for being conventional and staying in one place. In my case, that would be my home town.

As a boy, I played in the dirt a lot. We had grass, but cars rolled better on dirt, balls bounced higher. It was a country house; no asphalt once you left the highway. My choices were grass, the rooftops of various sheds that I wasn’t supposed to play on, and dirt. If I raked or hoed the dirt under the grove of shade trees in the back yard, it was pleasingly cool to the stomach when flopped upon. I rarely wore a shirt during summer months, not even to eat or for company. I liked the feel of the sun and the wind on my body. I never was much on wearing clothes.

As I inferred, my home town is a conservative town. Although everyone is friendly enough, there isn’t much tolerance for difference. The most obvious example is that if you aren’t Czech, you don’t get elected to anything and are never made to feel like you really belong. But that’s one thing I didn’t have to worry about; my father’s family, the Cernochs, and my mother’s family, the Novaks, have been here since the beginning of the town. But for whatever reason my mother had switched religions after my father’s death, leaving the social security of the Catholic Church to join an evangelical church that was attended mostly by ex-Baptists and non-Czechs. Suddenly, we were viewed differently, and we knew it.

All through my childhood, I was attracted to older boys. I couldn’t hardly talk to them, I was so in awe. If a boy was older and attractive, everything about him filled me with the strangest feeling. I didn’t know what to do with it. If there was a good-looking older boy in the room, all I could do was stare.

At age ten, I fell in love. This happened at the town bowling alley. I had gone, reluctantly because I knew my limitations, with a group of kids from church. I could not bowl to save my life, and after embarrassing myself in front of the church kids numerous times, I told them I was bored with bowling and would just watch. Then, watching them enjoying the lanes together, bowling the occasional strike and cheering, I truly was bored and also humiliated, envious, and miserable. Despite being thoroughly Czech-American, the only place in that town I ever felt like I truly belonged was my own house and yard.

Maybe a cheeseburger would help. I walked over to the concession.

What’d’ya want? the oily-looking girl behind the counter asked. I gave her my order, glancing at the sign hanging on the wall above her head: Now Hiring Friendly People. I could see that the unfriendly people presently employed were not working out.

When my order was ready, the cook slid it through the little window between the kitchen and the counter area, but the girl was busy talking on the phone. I waited impatiently, smelling the fries and burger, longing for a taste. Then an older boy further down the counter came to my rescue.

This is getting cold, he said, stepping behind the counter, picking up my basket of food, sitting it in front of me, then returning to his seat.

I felt my heart stop. When I could breathe again, I looked down the counter at the boy, who was eating a chili dog, licking chili from his fingers. Don’t do that. Don’t lick yourself like that. It was that feeling again of not knowing what to do with the longing surging inside of me, stronger than ever. The boy looked different than anyone I had ever seen—big holy eyes, earnest face, self-confident, muscular build, and so attractive I was in a swoon. I couldn’t take my eyes from him.

He did not immediately notice me looking at him, but when he did, I memory-photographed the response in slow-motion: the inquisitive glance that met my eyes, the handsome face breaking into a friendly expression something short of a smile, then a casual, Enjoying your burger?

Yeah.

I looked back at the counter in front of me, too afraid to look at the boy again for fear he would or would not be looking back.

The next time the church kids went bowling, I tagged along despite their protests, hoping luck would once again