Secrets

By Lorenzo Leroux

Secrets tells the story of up and coming writer Lorenzo Leroux whose biggest wish and dream arent to be rich and famous but to be happy and loved. He hides his pain, scars and secrets under a mask he calls temporary happiness. Lorenzo finds out that the mask hes been wearing comes with a heavy price. Lorenzo meets and falls in love with Mario, a man whom he thinks came from God. He realizes in the relationship that Marios hiding his own secrets along with the people whom he calls his friends. Lorenzo must deal with the lies, deceit, destruction, and drama that it all unfolds. He tries to keep his life together because he fears when the secrets are revealed many lives will be taken or destroyed. He says: Just because someone looks happy on the outside, doesnt mean theyre happy on the inside. Hes not the only one who wears a mask. Many will die when the masks are taken off and the secrets revealed. Who among his circle of friends and acquaintances has the biggest secret. How will he handle it? What will Lorenzo do to conceal it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456807283

Lorenzo Leroux

Lorenzo Leroux was born in raised in Nashville Tennessee. He was educated in the public schools. It was at the early age of 10 that he discovered God blessed him with the talent of writing. With the help and encouragement from his family, he nurtured his talent of writing poems, short stories, screenplays and so forth. He wrote for newspapers, magazines, weddings, funerals and poetry contest. Lorenzo still lives in Nashville, where he still writes and spends time with his family and friends.

Book preview

Copyright © 2010 by Lorenzo Leroux.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010916324

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4568-0727-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4568-0726-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-0728-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

88000

Contents

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Dedication of Love

Why?

I Miss You Like Crazy

To My Mother

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Sometimes when I’m alone, I live in my world of fear.

Wondering who will knock on my door, will the phone ring?

Wondering how and when I will die, I do think of these things.

But when I open my eyes I live in a world of love, hate and regret.

That world is hidden far away, so no one can see

The pain, the depression of my reality:

Because I hide them all with so many regrets

In a private world, in my own world

The World of Secrets!

Acknowledgments

This book could not have been done if it wasn’t for the help of God; I’ve been through a lot, and it’s through his blessings that I’m still here. I praise him, and I love him with all my heart I give my all to him. Every day is a new blessing in my life. The Lord has been so good to me. Again I thank him and love him. In Jesus’ name I have written. Amen!

Dedication

There have been a lot of people in and out of my life for the past twelve years; some are still with me; some are gone. Some have slipped away from me because they felt that I have changed in a bad way; some have died but are still in my heart. But most of them are still with me because they fight with me for me through my hard times. Some have been great productions to me, a great inspiration and a great gain.

There are two men whom I really love and so dedicate this page and book to. The two men are my two brothers in Christ, Antonio Eugene Jones and Robert Allen. I love these guys with all my heart. They have taught me so much about myself and about life.

There was a time when I felt I had so many friends. But I was wrong. Oh, was I wrong. I have been used, abused, hurt, lied to, robbed, and so much more. Now because of them many would say I’m a bitch! I thank them for opening my eyes to see what’s really going on in the world and for showing me what true friendship really means.

I thank God for my two brothers, and I pray that I get to see them again very soon. I know that I will. There are always planes, phones, and letters. So I know for a sure fact that they will enjoy this book. Until then I pray for a safe return of my brothers . . .

My mother, Jewel Reed; father, Clarence; my brothers, Kenneth, Tyrone, Anthony; and my sister, Cynthia, for protecting me.

To Uncle Mike thanks for loving me with heart and never giving up on me. You are my hero. God is good; thanks for showing me that.

My nieces and nephews, all of my relatives who showed they cared for me. Even during my bad times, I pray they find comfort in this book knowing that I have let go and forgave all who have harmed me.

Until then to quote myself,

It’s no big production number.

I have a cousin who I love with all my heart.

He’s been my source of strength, my inspiration.

When I was sick he was there for me, when I couldn’t walk he took care of me, and I really appreciated it all.

I’ve always told him hat he’s my favorite cousin, but he never believes me. I dedicate this page to Roger Moore, better known as Cousin Man.

Thank you for having faith in my photography, poetry, and cooking.

I owe you a lemon cake. I love you.

Thanks Aunt Bonnie for loving and believing in me. when everything in my world came apart you were there with glue to paste me together. you taught me how to love myself with pride and too accept myself. to forget what others said about me. when others talked badly about me, you gave me the strength to walk through the hate wall, to lift my head up and say I don't care, I love me.

I love you with smiles and laughter.

Dedication of Love

There have many times in my life when I felt like giving up—giving up on life, love, family, and friends. But throughout my bad experiences, I’ve found out that my family does care and love me very much. No matter how bad things may get, your family will be there for you, if you allow them to.

I want to first of all thank my grandmothers Lavonia Roberts and Evelyn Graves. They have been my joy since birth, even though they are in heaven now. I know that God lets them watch over me and the rest of the family. I love them very much, and I miss them dearly. People come to me and ask me why it that I smile so much is. Well, the answer is because my grandmothers are living in my heart.

I also want to thank my grandfather Clarence Eugene Graves. I know that he too is smiling down on me. They say that I look like him. And with that I again smile, and with pride.

Also I want to dedicate this book to my friends who have passed on. They taught me how to say I love you without fear. And they taught me to believe and to accept myself. I will love them forever and keep their memory alive.

I will forever praise God for blessing me with such great people. My life has changed because I have them all living here today in my heart . . .

Scott Vernon, Michael Turner, Ronnie Mayberry, George Wallace, John Fizz, Glenn Johnson, Chris Allen, Terry Holt, Victor, Gregg, John, Dennis Dragon Richardson, Tim Berking, Gary Smith, Steve Smith, Kim Batey, Larry Edmonds, and David Scott. I will miss them all but still continue to love them all.

May they continue to shine down on me . . .

Why?

Upon writing this book I met a wonderful young man whom I loved so dearly. His eyes sparkled with life, and his heart was so full of love. His name was Keith Stevenson, and what a great man he was. Keith was a man I met when he was fifteen years of age, and he gave me so much from his heart. I loved him from the beginning, and I still carry on his love though my mentoring. Keith was the first one I wanted to adopt and make my own son. But before I had a chance to make our dreams come true, he was killed by some thugs. Some ignorant kids killed my baby because of jealousy and because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had so much anger and hate in my heart toward the ones who killed him, and to this day it’s still hard for me to forgive them. But all I can do is pray to God to help me forgive the ones who killed him. There’s so much hate in this world today, and all we can do is be there for our youth. Don’t give up on them, love them, encourage them, and most of all teach them to love themselves and others around them. I’m very grateful to God for putting Keith in my life and most of all for giving me a son who loves me so much. May he watch over his family and bless them each day of their lives. I know he’s still blessing me. Keith is still living in my heart as I spread and carry on the love he gave me to others.

I Miss You Like Crazy

Many of my relatives and family friends have gone too live with God.

I want to take this time and add them to my page missing love.

My cousin John Holt, Ms. Nancy, Ms. Lucille, Ms. Kate, Mr. and Mrs. Redus, cousin Walt. Julia B Reed, and my uncle Alfred, my cousin Scoop, I think of them always and miss them all so dearly.

To My Mother

I love you more than words can say. From the first time I laid eyes on you, I knew that I had to have you in my life forever. God blessed me with you; and I’m so proud of you, not because you are so intelligent and so kind to all, not because you’re so beautiful and love all. I’m proud to have you as my mother because you love and care for me very much. It has taken you a long time to get me, and I’ll never let go of you. You went through a lot to have me. I would fight for you and with you until the day I die. Still while I’m in heaven, I will look over you and guide you, shelter you with my wings of love. While I’m here I shall continue to hold you when you cry, cheer you on each day of your life, and love you unconditionally forever and ever. Words can’t express my love for you, but as I write this, I try, and I cry with tears of joy. May you learn from my mistakes and take heart. Keep God first; he gave me you. I love you, I love you. Oh, yes, I do.

Your son,

Rodney Lorenzo Leroux Graves

5-13-83

D.D.,

Well, it was supposed to be a great day for me graduating high school and everything; but nothing went right. Oh, I wish that you can feel this pain. I feel like killing myself because of what happened. I’ve been crying and crying and crying. I wish that I had someone to talk to.

Introduction

Sometimes when I’m alone, I think about my life,

Where I am and where I’m going.

Sometimes my mind wanders with great ideas.

Sometimes it fails, and there’s nothing there.

It was then I realized that I am alone.

I am alone living here in fear.

I am alone. Yes, I’m alone.

There’s no one here. I am alone.

No! Juan yells out. He runs to the man who’s lying on the street bleeding from a gunshot.

They put him in the ambulance and rush him to the hospital.

He slowly opens his eyes; everything he views is in black-and-

white.

Where am I? he says to himself. He reaches up to touch someone’s face, a man who has a light beard. He’s talking to him, but he can’t understand what the man is saying.

"Oh, I’m in pain he says too himself.

I don’t want to live . . . I want to die I’m in so much pain . . . so very hurt.

They get to the hospital; they rush him to the operating room.

Get him on the bed. What happened? the doctor asks.

They told us he was shot in the back next to his spine.

Get me a stat, fast!

They begin to work on him. I don’t want to live.

He says too himself, All my friends have died.

I have no one, no family, and friends. My life is useless. Let me go, let me go.

The heart rate monitor beeps, his pressure and heart rate starts to drop. The doctors and nurses scramble to save him.

They use the defibrillator to try and bring him back too life.

He not fighting, he trying and wanting too die.

I want to die. The beeping continues, and the voice slowly fades away.

How did my pain start? Why am I this way? he asks himself. Oh, yeah, I remember why.

Chapter One

It’s 5:31 a.m.

There is a guy sitting in the living room on the wooden floor naked.

He’s crying; the alarm goes off with its constant beeping.

He turns around to face the door then turns his head back and faces the window.

The beeps stop. It’s 5:32 a.m.; he wipes his tears and says, No more, no more.

He gets up and goes to the phone; the lighting begins to crack and the thunder rolls strong.

He grabs the phone and walks to the window. He dials the number.

As the phone begins to ring, he looks out at the world.

What a storm, he says.

Someone answers the phone.

Hello.

Jerry, don’t hang up. Listen to me. I’m so depressed and so tired of all of this pain.

Jerry huffs through the phone. What are you talking about, Lorenzo?

Jerry, I’m living a lie. I am not happy.

What are you talking about?

My life . . . every day I go into the world wearing this fake smile and pretending that I’m happy! I am the most miserable person in the world, and I can’t take it no more.

Lorenzo that was your own doing. No one told you to do that.

I know . . . I know, he says sadly. I . . . I just can’t take it no more. I’m so damn tired of all of this, all the help that I give to my friends. They don’t want to do a damn fucking thing for me. He walks to his bed and reaches under the mattress.

Lorenzo, I don’t want to hear this, Jerry says.

I know, I know! No one wants to listen to me, and I’m damn tired of it.

He pulls out a 45 caliber gun; he walks to the mirror and looks at himself: he has heavy tears falling down his face, and his eyes are red.

His lips begin to quiver as he continues to try to speak.

From here on out, he says as he raises the gun to his temple, no one would have to worry about me or even think about me.

His hand shakes as the gun goes toward his head.

What are you talking about? Jerry asks.

From here on out, I want you to know that I love you and—

Jerry interrupts, Whatever, Lorenzo!

Jerry, please listen to me, damn it! He cries more.

I’m so tired of arguing with you. I just want to come to make peace with you and to tell you that I’m sorry about all the pain that I’ve caused you, and I do love you more than you may ever know . . . Please believe me . . .

Yeah, yeah, he says to him, is that all you wanted to say?

No! I . . . I also want you to take care of yourself and to be happy.

Happy, he says laughing, You know, Jerry, I’m twenty-two years old. And I’m the most miserable person I know, and happy is something I’ve never been.

It’s so funny to hear that word come out of my mouth. Oh, well, maybe in the next life . . . Will you do what I asked you to? Will you take care of yourself and remember that I love you?

There is no answer . . . Jerry! Jerry, he yells out.

What? Aren’t you done yet?

Lorenzo pauses. Yeah, I’m done. He cocks the trigger.

Jerry hears it. Lorenzo, what are you doing?

May God forgive me for what I’m about to do.

He pulls the trigger.

Nooooo! Lorenzo wakes up panting hard. The lighting cracks, and the thunder rolls. He looks around his room in fright. He sits up and watches the raindrops hitting the window.

I’m tired of the dreams, he says sadly.

Every night I have nightmares about my life. What’s going to happen to me? He begins to rock in a back-and-fourth motion with his arms folded.

I think I’m going to die very soon, he says sadly, and he begins to cry.

I’m all alone . . . I’m going to die alone.

The lighting continues to crack more, and the thunder rolls hard.

Lorenzo has cried himself to sleep with the television on.

On the screen are the Flintstones; whenever he has bad dreams, he watches innocent cartoons because there’s no violence . . .

Its 9:45 a.m. Lorenzo’s up, wide awake, talking to his publisher on the phone about his book.

I know, Debra. I know I’m behind on the book, but I just haven’t been inspired to write.

Well, you need to get inspired. You took the commission check, and you signed the contract, and in that contract you are obligated to complete that book . . .

I know, but the dreams keep coming.

She stops talking, and she listens to him.

Debra’s really the only true friend Lorenzo has.

She may be his publisher, but she’s always there to listen to him, and when he started having these dreams, she got very worried about him.

Oh Lorenzo, that makes the third time you had that dream.

I know, and each time it gets a little longer as if . . .

The next part will be continued in my next dream.

She walks on the plush beige carpet in her office listening to Lorenzo talk, and as he speaks she can sense his pain and fear.

Well, listen, Lorenzo. Take your time on the book.

I’m fine. I don’t need a lot of time. Just give me a couple of months. It shall be done. I give you my word.

She smiles. All right, your word is all I need. A couple of months, that’s what you have.

Thank you, Debra.

Hey, you’re welcome. I’m your publisher. What else can I do?

Nothing, he says, thank you. She smiles.

Anytime, call me later.

I will. He hangs up the phone.

Lorenzo walks back to his bedroom. He lies down and tries to fall asleep. Maybe I should at least write a little.

He gets up, goes to his computer, and opens his files.

Maybe this will help me ease my pain. He begins to type.

Lorenzo’s a twenty-two-year-old black male; he’s a very handsome guy with a low self-esteem about himself, because of what people had said to him when he was young.

He’s a writer, not just any writer; he’s a great writer.

Poetry, screenplays, novels, short stories, whatever you need him to write he can do it fast.

He writes mainly from his heart rather than his mind of fantasies.

He makes a great living doing it. A nice four-bedroom house: he says he loves the space.

He owns his car, he’s doing very well, except for his personal life.

The book he’s writing is called Cry of a Waking Heart.

It’s about a guy who tries so hard to please his family and friends.

He gets so hurt in the end, it’s more of a bio of his life; his very own pain.

He writes for a little while, and he stops.

This is too depressing, he says as he closes his file.

I’m going to lie back down.

He does again with the TV on, and he slowly falls back asleep.

Video Checkout, this is Steve. May I help you? Steve says to a customer on the phone. Steve is Lorenzo’s best friend.

He’s supposed to be . . . But lately he has not been there for him.

Robert walks through the door. Steve hangs up the phone.

Hey, Rob, he says.

What’s up, Steve?

She man, it’s busy. People kill me wanting movies the day I want to get out early.

Robert smiles. Hey, have you spoken to Lorenzo today?"

No why?

When I saw him, he looked so down, so I just thought by you being his best friend you know what’s wrong.

Steve sighs; he knows that he hasn’t spoken to Lorenzo nor given him the time to speak.

Oh, he’s fine. I think it’s just the pressure of writing that book.

You know he has the deadline, and they already paid him, and you know stuff like that.

Robert looks at him puzzled. No, I don’t believe that’s it. He never lets pressure of writing bother him. I really believe it’s something else . . . You should call him, Robert suggests.

Steve huffs at Robert. What about you? You’re his friend too.

Yeah, but you’re his best friend. He tells you more, and right now he needs you.

I . . . He’s interrupted as a customer comes up to the counter. I’ll talk to ya later, Steve, Robert says.

No, wait! Stay right there. I’m not done. He takes care of the customer; Robert looks around the store.

It’s now 1:13 p.m. Lorenzo is on his computer writing his book.

There’s a knock at the door.

Just a minute, he yells. He gets up from his desk and answers the door.

It’s Winfred, Lorenzo’s ex—well, you really can’t call him his ex.

Lorenzo was never in love with him; Lorenzo has never been in love with anyone. With Winfred, it’s more like a sex thing.

As a matter of fact, that’s the only time he comes over to see Lorenzo—for sex.

He’s a good-looking guy, light skinned, bowlegged, nice lips and dick.

His only fault is he’s such a whore what’s up dude?" Lorenzo asks.

You, Winfred responds.

Come on in. Winfred walks in, turns around, and gives Lorenzo a hug.

Lorenzo hugs him back. Winfred rubs his butt. Lorenzo backs away.

Come on in the computer room. They walk to the room.

They sit down. So what’s been going on?

Shoot, I’ve been trying to finish this book. Winfred gets up and looks at the computer screen; he reads what he is writing.

What’s the name of your book?

"Cry of a Waking Heart."

What’s it about? He looks at Lorenzo.

It’s about this guy who does everything for his friends, but when he needs them, they are never around. It deals with rape, suicide, murder, the works. He smiles when he says that.

Why are you writing that?

It’s my life, and it’s in my blood to write it . . .

Your life? Man, that ain’t you!

Lorenzo looks at Winfred and says, You don’t know me.

Yeah, I do. He begins to rub his shoulders.

And you know I do. He kisses him. Lorenzo saves his work, turns off his computer, and begins to have sex with Winfred.

After they are done, Lorenzo walks Winfred to the door, gives him a hug, goes back to his computer, pulls out a disk marked Life, and puts it in and begins to write in his journal.

Chapter Two

5-16-86

Dear Diary,

Well, today was still not a good day. I’m still having those dreams. They get scarier each night. I wish that they would go away. Winfred came over for his usual sex. I don’t know why I did it with him.

Yes, I do. I was horny. It was okay. It could’ve been better.

Steve hasn’t called me back yet, and I doubt if he does.

Where are my true friends? I’m going to try to have the book finished by next month . . . I’m too depressed to write.

Till then I’ll try to call Steve again. He calls.

Video Checkout, may I help you?

Yes, may I please speak to Steve? he asks.

Yeah, hold on. He puts Lorenzo on hold for a while.

He continues to wait impatiently. And then he hangs up.

Fuck him! he says angrily. He gets up and walks around the house.

I’ll just go for a walk. Come on, Lor-nai-nuk.

His dog Lor-nai-nuk comes running to him. Lor-nai-nuk is what he calls a schnau-terrier—half schnauzer, half terrier.

He’s black and gray; he looks like an old man. Come on, boy. Let’s go for a walk. They leave the house.

Mark, how’s David doing? Phil asks.

Not good, he says sadly. His T-cell count is very low, constant coughing, fevers are back. It doesn’t look very good.

Have you told Lorenzo that he’s in the hospital yet?

Mark sighs. No not yet. I know I have to.

David’s a good friend of Lorenzo; he has AIDS.

They don’t want to tell him how bad he is because they know how worried he gets.

Mark’s his lover; he’s been tested negative. David got it years ago.

But Mark has stayed with him since he was diagnosed.

Lorenzo knows about his illness but hasn’t seen them in a while.

After he’s done walking the dog, he goes back home and tries to call Steve again.

Video Checkout, this is Steve. Can I help you?

Steve, why did you put me on hold that freaking long?

Lorenzo, I’m sorry. It’s been so busy here.

Can you talk now?

Yeah, hold on. Let me go in the office. He transfers phones.

What’s up?

Steve, I need to talk to you. I’m not having a good day, listen.

Steve interrupts, You’re not having a good day. Neither am I, he says.

No, Steve, please listen to me.

He interrupts again, Let me you tell you what happens to me, Lorenzo. It’s been really busy down here today, and some of these customers got on my damn nerves.

Steve, I got you beat, listen.

He interrupts again, "This one lady came in and asks me if we have Beverly Hills Cop in. I told them that they were all checked out. She started raising hell at me saying that we need to have more copies of it on the shelves and that this was her fourth time here at the store and it’s never there. Blah, blah, oh, she was getting on my fucking nerves. A guy came in, returned his copy. I gave it to her, and the bitch finally left. And kids came in wanting to rent video games, and they got on my nerves. Basically everybody got on my fucking nerves, even Robert."

Robert, he asks. What did Robert do?

Nothing really, he was wondering if I spoken to you. He told me you were sad or something. I told him it was just stress from writing that book.

No, Steve, it isn’t. I’m glad someone noticed it. Steve, let me tell you what’s been going on.

There’s a knock on the office door. Steve, there’s some guy out here who wants to see you.

Okay, I’ll be right out. Lorenzo, I have to go.

No, Steve, I need to speak to you please!

I’ll call you back. He looks out the door to see who it is.

No, Steve, please just listen to me for a while. I’m so unhappy.

The other line rings. Hold on, Steve says.

Lorenzo sits on the couch; he has tears rolling down his face.

He continues to wait. He gets impatient and hangs up.

He cries more. No one wants to listen to me.

He looks up; he falls down on his knees and prays.

After he’s done praying, he goes to his bedroom, gets into bed.

His dog jumps up on the bed with him. He rubs his dog and falls asleep.

As he sleeps he dreams again about the past, not just any past—his past.

He’s five years old; everyone is looking at him.

Oh, look at Rodney, they say.

Come here, Rodney. He doesn’t look at who’s calling him, instead he runs away from them.

I don’t know why he’s running. We should be running from him.

He’s so ugly.

His aunt Bonnie grabs him; he tries to fight her to break away.

Boy, be still, she says.

Put me down, put me down, you motherfucker, he says.

She’s shocked at his choice of words, and then laughs.

She puts him down; he runs in the house and hides his face from everyone.

He feels he too is very ugly, because that’s what the grown-ups say.

His aunt looks at him running and says, You’re going to be all right. Yeah, you’re going to be just fine.

He turns his head and has a different dream—he’s thirteen. He’s arguing with his brother Tyrone whose three years younger than he.

Damn faggot! Tyrone shouts out at Rodney.

Rodney’s head is down; he walks toward the living room.

There’s a knock at the door. Tyrone gets it.

It’s his friend Timmy. He’s twelve and very rude.

What ya dong, Tyrone?

Fucking with this faggot! They go to the living room.

Rodney’s head begins to hurt; the phone rings.

Look at him, Tyrone says. He’s waiting on his boyfriend to call him.

Hello, Rodney says sadly. Hey. He gives a light smile.

Is that your boyfriend? Tyrone yells out.

Meet me in the field in ten minutes if you can. I need to get away.

He’s going to suck some guy’s dick! Tyrone shouts. Timmy stands and just looks and laughs.

Okay, bye. He hangs the phone up, looks at his brother, and shakes his head.

You’ve got a problem, he says to Tyrone.

You’ve got a problem, Tyrone says back to him but in a feminine voice.

Bitch-ass punk. He hits Rodney, and Rodney hits him back.

Leave me alone! Rodney says in mean voice.

Man, fuck you! He hits Rodney again. Rodney hits him back.

The two begin to fight.

Timmy looks and laughs. Rodney then snaps.

He grabs Tyrone by the neck and squeezes it tight. Tyrone begins to cough.

His squeeze chokes him; he does it harder.

Tyrone begins to cough hard.

Rodney then lets go of him. He walks toward the door.

Tyrone throws a knife at him; it misses him.

Damn fucking faggot! he says with disgust.

Rodney walks on out the door very sad and very, very hurt.

Timmy stands there laughing and says, Man, that was funny. Suppose you would’ve hit him?

I don’t care. That’ll be one less queer in the world.

Man, that’s your brother.

No, he’s not, Tyrone says. I ain’t got a fag for a brother.

I hate him! Rodney walks on outside and to the park, which is a large field, with two baseball fields, a little park with some swings, and slides for the kids.

He sits on the swing and pushes himself.

He closes his eyes; a tear rolls down.

He takes in a deep breath, stops swinging, exhales, and walks around the park to ease his mind and heart.

But he soon stops; across the field he spots two of his enemies, Deron and Patrick. The two bullies he hates the most.

They spot him and begin to chase him; he runs away from them fast as he’s jumping over any obstacle that’s in his way.

He loses them; he then stops, catches his breath as he talks too himself.

This has got to come to a stop. I don’t know why people want to hurt me? I haven’t done anything to them. What makes me so different? Is it the way I look? The way I dress? The way I speak? Am I too proper? Am I too kind? What?

He looks around the field. My brother tries to kill me. No one understands me. What am I doing wrong? What do you want to do now, Rodney? he asks himself. I don’t know. Let’s go for a walk and let’s just keep walking until the sun goes down, or I get very tired.

He awakens from his dream. It’s now 8:01 PM; he’s now in the living room looking through his photo album.

Hey! he says with happiness.

He’s run across a picture of two guys. One has blonde hair, the other has dark.

They are his very best friends: Dennis, whom he calls dragon, and Jim. They went to high school together.

They were and still are the best of friends. He doesn’t see them much since they moved to Australia. But he calls them and writes.

He strokes the photo of the three of them together in Australia by the ocean.

I really miss you guys, he says sadly.

I wish you were here. I know if you were, I wouldn’t be so lonely. I know for a fact that I would have someone to talk to, someone to make me laugh. especially you Dragon. You’re a character. Remember the time Jim gave you two birth control pills and told you that they were aspirin?

He begins to laugh. And hey, what about the time he got very drunk? Pissed you off big-time because he did that, and so like three days later you guys went out, had a lot of beers. Well, he did. He got up to pee, and you pulled out your ding-a-ling and peed in a beer bottle and gave it to him. Man, he came back, grabbed that bottle, and drunk all of it. He said, ‘Damn, that was kind of warm.’ You started laughing as hard, and he looked at ya. Jim said, ‘That tasted funny.’ ‘What did it taste like, Jim?’ you asked. ‘It tastes like piss,’ he said. ‘You know why?’ He gave you a look of fright. And you said, ‘Because it was.’ Oh, I wish I could’ve been there. I think about that story each time I see beer. But poor Jim he got so sick. But the best part was he quit drinking.

He begins to laugh even harder; there’s a knock on the door.

Lor-nai-nuk runs to the door and waits on Lorenzo to open it.

It’s Robert. Hey, dude, come on in.

He walks in and gives Lorenzo a strong hug; Lorenzo does the same.

He looks at Robert and asks, What’s wrong?

Nothing, what makes you think something’s wrong?

Now, Robert, this is me Lorenzo. You know I could always tell when something is bothering you, or if you have a lot of weight on your heart.

Yeah, Robert responds.

Sit down, Lorenzo says. They sit, and Robert begins to tell him his problem.

I’m a little short on my rent.

How short? he questions.

I just need fifty dollars.

So what’s the problem?

I need it now! He’s threatening to put me out if I don’t give to him within the hour.

Over fifty dollars? he shouts.

Yeah.

Get out of here.

I’m serious, but it was really more than that. I just got it down to fifty dollars.

So how much was it originally?

Four hundred dollars.

Four hundred! What did you do with the money?

I lost it.

You lost it? How in the heck did you lose four hundred dollars?

Robert gets up and walks around the room, trying hard not to look at Lorenzo when he speaks.

I was at this guy’s house, and we were having sex. When I got up to go wash, I think that’s when . . . that’s when he went in my pocket and took it.

Was this someone you knew?

No. I just met him that night. Lorenzo shakes his head in disbelief.

I know what you’re about to say, and I’ve already heard it, so you don’t have to tell me.

He looks at Robert and sees this lonely kid in front of him.

He’s not really a kid; he’s twenty-two. But the way he carries himself and the things that he does make you wonder about him.

He graduated high school with honors, went to college for a couple of years, and all of a sudden he began to slip.

He quit going to school, started hanging around thugs, and from what Lorenzo’s heard he’s doing drugs.

Lorenzo has asked him if he were, and when he did, Robert became so raged that he stormed out of his house saying he can’t believe he asked him a fucking question like that.

He was calling him a fucking bastard, motherfucker, and jive-ass bitch—every name he could think of.

Lorenzo was so hurt by those words, and he knew Robert was too by his question.

But you really couldn’t blame Lorenzo for asking.

So many things have come up missing from his own house, which he knew Robert took.

But he never said a word about it; he said those things can be replaced, but his soul cannot. I need to help him.

So can you lend that to me?

Yeah, Robert, I’ll lend it to ya. I’ll write them a check.

No, no, uh, give me cash. He won’t accept any check.

Lorenzo gets up, goes to his bedroom, and takes out fifty dollars.

He goes back to the living room and hands it to Robert.

I’ll pay you back, Robert says.

Yeah, I know, Lorenzo responds.

Thank you . . . He walks to the door.

I thought you were going to stay with me for a while.

I’ll be back. I need to go and pay this man.

But I need to talk . . . Robert closes the door, runs to his car, and drives off. Yeah, ahead and leave like everybody else. He locks the door, goes to his study, gets on his computer, and writes in his journal.

5-16-86

Well, it’s 9:45 p.m., and I still haven’t heard from Steve, and I really don’t expect to.

It’s no big deal now. Robert came by for some money he said he needed for his rent. So I gave it to him, just fifty dollars.

I know he really wanted it to buy drugs, but hey, what am I to do?

Any way . . . I had a fair day today. The best part was looking at the photos of Dragon and Jim; I really do miss my friends.

I’m so alone . . . I may go dancing and dance these blues out of me.

Oh, well, till then I’ll keep you informed.

It’s now 11:15 p.m. Lorenzo is at the warehouse; it’s a gay club; the music is hot; the people are dressed to get laid, and some to dance.

Lorenzo walks in, says hello to the some of the people there, and he steps back,

Leans on the wall and observes everyone . . .

You know, he says to himself. All of these people claim to be my friend. But where were they tonight when I needed them? I got to learn how to separate. Hmm, I like the way that sounds.

He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his small writing tablet and writes, I’m learning to separate the good from the bad. I’m learning to see that under someone’s happiness, there always lays sadness. I’m learning to separate a smile from a tear, my laughter, which I use to cover my fears.

Hey, Lorenzo. He’s interrupted.

Hey, guys, I’ll finish this later. He puts his mask of happiness on and his small pad back in his pocket and talks with his acquaintances.

Mark and Phil are at the hospital. They are waiting on David’s parents to come by and visit. Mark is very sad and tired. But he tries his best to hide it. Phil knows how he is. He tries his best to comfort him. But it doesn’t do any good. He keeps pushing him away with some jokes.

Mark, you don’t have to put on this act for me.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Yes, you do. He looks at him in the eyes.

I know you’re hurting, and so am I, but I’m showing it. Don’t be afraid to show it.

I can’t. He faces the other way.

Why not, Mark?

I have to be strong for David.

Mark, David knows you’re only human. He wants you be yourself and to express yourself. Don’t be afraid to cry. Please just let it go.

I can’t! he shouts.

"Yes, you can . . . Quit fighting it, damn it, and show your pain.

He walks toward Mark and looks at him. He sees that he is getting him to let go of his anger and show his pain. He says it again, Mark, he’s sick and dying, and you know he is.

Damn, Phil, I know. But I don’t have to show it. I don’t have to accept it.

Yes, you do.

Why? Where is it written that I have to show that I’m in pain? Where is it written that I have to accept the fact that my lover is dying? Huh? Can you tell me? He walks toward the window and looks out at the city.

He lowers his head in sadness and speaks to Phil softly, with pain through his voice. You know, that’s the first time I ever said that, he says.

Phil looks at him. Said what?

He pauses. That my lover’s dying. When we met five years ago, oh, I was so entranced by him. He walked up to me with those fine bowlegs of his, and he said, uh—Mark begins to sniff and starts to cry—‘you may not know it, but you’re going to be my lover for life.’ And I said, ‘Yeah right,’ and I walked away. And he kept trying his best to go out with me, but I kept turning him down. I thought he was so conceited. The way he approached and spoke to me, I said, ‘What a conceited jerk.’ And it was only because of Lorenzo I hooked up with him. Lorenz told me that he was really a very nice guy and just shy, and he put on that I’m-a-stud act to help him get out of his shy shell. But I didn’t believe it, but Lorenzo has never lied to me, so I had no choice. So I went out with him. And the rest is, as they say, history. I have been the happiest guy in the world since I’ve been with him. I mean we’ve had our problems, but that’s normal. Phil, I love that man so fucking much it’s pathetic. Phil walks up to him, looks at him in the eyes to ask a question—the question that’s been on his mind the most.

What happened? Mark knew what he was talking about, and he knew that he was going to ask that question sooner or later. He sits down, Phil does the same across from him, and he listens.

I don’t know. It’s been on my mind too.

What do you mean you don’t know?

He’s never told me . . . I mean he’s told me different versions, but I doubt if he told me that truth. No matter how many times I brought it up, he never once told me that truth. And I’m still left in the dark.

How do you think he got it? Phil asks.

I know how he got it. He got it from having sex with an infected person. But it’s that person he would not tell.

Why?

I really don’t know. Sometime in my mind I feel it’s someone I know, someone I thought was a friend. But my heart is telling me to just let it go and take care of him. That it’s best if I never found out.

What do you really want to do?

"I want to know . . .