Collected Fiction

By Keith Hale

The Collected Fiction of Keith Hale includes his novels Clicking Beat on the Brink of Nada (Cody) and Heart and Soul along with his novella Space; his short stories "Breathless," "Nothing Strikes Back," and "Truck"; as well as a collection of his early poetry. All works are full and unabridged.

 

From reviews for Clicking Beat on the Brink of Nada (Cody):

 

A haunting vision of young friendship shattered by an outrageously cruel world. The novel aches with adolescent first loves. It is tender, funny, and true. - William S. Burroughs

 

Commands much of J.R. Ackerley's honesty, intimacy, and ease of style. Real warmth. - Jonathan Williams, Musings

 

A sense of life, the search for identity, intellectual militancy, the ambiguity of human relationships, unsatisfied desire, and weakness in facing existence are just some of the facets of life that the author evokes with precision. - Livres (Brussels)

 

Top of the heap of gay fiction. - Gay Community News (Boston)

 

Poetically evokes the pathos of early friendships and the frailty of adolescent dreams. - The Advocate

 

The author has given his novel characters with tenderness, wit, and humanity. You should rush to purchase this book—a remarkable novel that deserves wide readership. - Bay Area Reporter (San Francisco)

 

The message transcends common reality. … The author charts the victory of substance over appearance, of eternal truths over transient physical relationships. His characters give off warmth and forthrightness in equal portions. - This Week in Texas (Houston)

 

One of the best of its generation, this novel is beautifully written, exciting (and sexy), and full of incident and charm. Even minor characters are treated with Dickensian relish. - Gay Star (Belfast)

 

A novel about individualism, the right to be whatever you want to be. … This book should be read by kids and adults alike … A gay teen coming out classic. - Lambda Rising Book Report (D.C.)

 

The real triumph of the novel is its portraits of adolescent love. This reviewer can think of no recent novel that has done it better… A very considerable achievement. - English Language Book Review (Amsterdam)

 

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. watersgreen.wixsite.com/watersgreenhouse

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Watersgreen House
• Release date: Feb 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224820238

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.

Book preview

Chapter One

Ispent 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 put the older boy in my path. He wasn’t there, and I had a miserable, desolate time, became moody, caused a small scene by rolling a bowling bowl into the reset mechanism, and was thereafter banned from church bowling trips.

I didn’t see the boy again for three years, but I never forgot his face. I learned his name and age when I was thirteen by coming across his photograph in the local pa­per while checking the movie listings. His name was Harper Clements, he has now eighteen, and he lived in a small area nearby known as Roe. But not for long: He had been accepted into the Air Force Academy.

The next day, after lunch, I put a shirt on to look respectable, got on my bike, and headed for Roe. It was a five-mile ride, and I took my time, not wanting to arrive a sweaty mess. Still, I was there sooner than I expected. It did not take me long to find a mailbox with the name Clements on it. Of course, there could be more than one, or Harper could be living with a stepfather with a differ­ent last name. In any case, I was too afraid, once I found the mailbox, to approach the house to see if it was really his. I sat on my bike staring at the mailbox for quite some time, then rode to the only store in town, which doubled as a service station, to buy something to drink.

I recognized him instantly even in the motorcycle helmet, filling his tank with gas. Harper glanced at me as I rode up, but no look of recognition crossed his face. This is what I expected. Why should Harper recognize me? I was thirteen now and looked nothing like I had at ten. No goofy kid expressions to smile at now, just the usual early adolescent confusion playing about the face, threatening to erupt into The Scream. So, I shyly made the first move.

Your name’s Harper, right?

Harper looked up again only briefly, then turned his attention back to the pump. Yeah. How’d you know?

It never occurred to me to say anything but the truth. All those years in church had taught me to worship with respect.

I saw you once at the bowling alley when I was younger. And I saw you in the paper yesterday, about you joining the Navy.

Air Force, Harper corrected.

Oh, yeah, I said, feeling stupid.

Harper looked at me again, said nothing. Then, when the tank was full, he took off his helmet, looked me straight in the eye, and smiled the widest smile he could possibly smile.

You saw me once at the bowling alley? And you remember me?

The force of the question drove the stupidity of the situation deep into my eyes. All I could say was Yeah.

I haven’t been bowling since, well, I don’t know. Long time. When did you see me? How long ago?

Three years.

Three years? At least he hadn’t repeated the words with ridiculing emphasis, as if I were a nutcase. He’d merely repeated them with a question mark.

Yeah.

Harper just kept staring at me. Then he broke into another smile, this one perhaps more cautious than the first, but still warm. Come on, he said. Want to go for a ride?

Sure.

Just put your bike in the garage.

Harper turned toward the building. Hey, Jim? Okay if we leave this bike in here? Keep an eye on it for me, will ya?

A voice from inside the garage said it was fine.

Just a second. I need to pay for my gas.

While I waited for Harper to return, I admired the cycle. Black and silver, with a bit of blue. Pretty sharp. And Harper was dressed to match: black jeans, blue shirt. And next thing I knew I was sitting behind Harper on the cycle, wearing Harper’s helmet, holding onto Harper’s waist as instructed. I was in heaven, or at least felt myself drifting there. I sensed myself rising, and I could see my­self on the cycle with my arms around this older boy. I could see the entire road, the countryside, the county, the whole state, and for a moment the whole continent, then I vanished from earth al­together, toward my own white sun, like an asteroid, shooting through the cosmos. Then I returned, and I held on tighter.

Harper drove to West Mountain, then turned off on a hiking trail, then, finally, on a smaller trail that led to a clearing in the forest. He parked the cycle, and I followed him into the woods, carefully stepping around the poison ivy and the slightly more exotic poison dogwood, saying nothing.

How old are you? Harper asked.

Thirteen.

Harper nodded, kept walking. Sometimes he paused to hold a briar back so it wouldn’t slap me in the face. We came to a second clearing surrounded on one side by a grove of fir trees and on three sides by oak. Harper stopped, looked around, and sat down on a fallen log. Come on, he said, sit with me.

I was glad he added the with me and didn’t just say sit. I knew even before I left home that he could treat me any way he wanted to and I would take it. I was glad he wasn’t like that, but I figured that already. People like that don’t help a boy get his cheeseburger.

The clearing was flat, and wide enough that a good portion of the sky was visible. But the log on which we sat was to one side and shaded. Except for the pairs of dragonflies coupling in mid-air, it was pleasant enough—although with perhaps more spiders and gnats than a ra­tional god should provide. I could hear a frequent buzzing in my ear, and when something landed on my arm, I in­stinctively slapped it.

Then I said earnestly to the dead gnat, Sorry. I thought you were a mosquito.

Harper grinned at me but said nothing. In fact, we both fell silent for a while.

I never been out of state, Harper said eventually. Now I’m going to Colorado.

Why’d you pick the Air Force? I asked, glad I could think of something to say. You want to fly planes?

Spaceships.

Spaceships?

Already an apt student, like Harper I repeated his information without condescension. Nothing ridiculing in my voice at all, just wonder.

Harper laughed. Sure, why not? Somebody’s got to do it. Well, maybe just a shuttle. Whatever they’ll give me. I want to be an astronaut.

There was a long silence while I pondered this astonishing piece of news. Can you really do that, I won­dered. Wasn’t that something first graders said?

You gotta be pretty smart to be an astronaut, don’t you?

Yeah, I guess so.

So, you’re pretty smart.

I guess so. You?

My grades at school indicated I wasn’t stupid.

I guess so.

Just keep up with your schoolwork then. Maybe you’ll join me in space someday.

I’d join you anywhere, I said, before I could stop myself.

Harper stared at me.

Do you squeak when you’re squeezed?

I had no idea what he was talking about.

You’re a cute kid, Harper said. I like you. I turned a light shade of red, said nothing at all. Cute as a baby duck. The epitome of cute. If you were in a morality play, you’d have to be Cute.

Like I said, I do well enough in school to think I’m reasonably intelligent, but I had to admit, once again I didn’t have a clue. I was afraid to say anything because I was feeling stupid and didn’t want stupid to come out of my mouth.

Since I gave no response, Harper stared at me a while longer, like he was trying to figure me out just by looking at me, then he asked, Did you know ducks mate for life?

No.

It’s true, Harper said. Then he took off his shirt, got down in the dirt, and began to do push-ups in the clearing.

I’ve got to stay in shape or they’ll kill me at the Academy, he said. He must have done a hundred of them before we left. I just watched at first, admiring the smooth masculinity of his older body, the trim fullness of it, the color of the smooth skin, the muscles flexing as he went up and down. He looked perfect, exactly like I’d want my man to look, I kept thinking. It was like he had come out of my fantasy imagination, like my sheer desire for him had made him real. He was gorgeous. He was melt­ing me. Nothing but smooth, smooth skin. And a dog tag.

You already got your dog tags?

No. These were my dad’s. He was killed in action.

Oh, I said. I knew adults said, I’m so sorry, or I’m sorry for your loss, but those words didn’t seem to fit my mouth, so oh would have to do.

It happens.

Yeah.

You close with your dad? Harper asked.

He’s dead too.

Then you know. It happens.

I decided to stop talking to make it easier for him. He continued the push-ups; I continued watching him.

Any brothers? he asked.

No. Just me. You?

Two little sisters. Younger than you.

I just kept watching him. I had been too self-conscious to stare at him before, when he was staring at me, but now that he was exercising, facing down, I could gather the courage to look.

Come join me.

I wanted to just keep watching, but I also wasn’t ashamed to show him I could do a few myself. I got off the log and got in position, my head facing his, not far away, almost invading his space, but not quite.

You’re going to get your shirt sweaty and dirty, Harper said.

It was a bit too late, but I sat up and removed it. I usually don’t wear a shirt in the summer, I said.

Harper looked at my torso. You shouldn’t, he said.

We both continued our push-ups. Then Harper got into position for sit-ups and asked me to spot him. I had such a wonderful view of his stomach muscles then, flexing and straining with each sit-up. His face showed no stress at all, and it was pretty intimate the way his face kept approaching me then receding, approaching and re­ceding. My mind was in a daze.

Your turn, Harper said, and he spotted me just as I had him.

I could see him looking at my stomach muscles as well.

You’ve got a good body for your age, he said. You should work out more though, make it really special.

I told him I would.

I did as many sit-ups as I could, with Harper smiling at me every time I leaned forward, but I couldn’t do as many as he could, and eventually he saw that I was struggling.

Come on, my turn, he said, switching positions with me again. Now I was back in the position of watching his face come close to my own then recede over and over again, just like before. I could see that he was struggling slightly more than before; still, it seemed like he could do these all afternoon if he wanted to. He looked so good there, his body so agile and muscular, his face so beautiful.

As he leaned into the sitting-up position, I put my hand behind his head, brought his face all the way to my own, and kissed him on the lips. Then he was re­ceding again, leaving me with my head spinning, not quite sure I had done that since it happened so fast.

Harper did a few more sit-ups, saying nothing, staring at me, his expression changed. Then he stopped and put his hands behind him for support. I released my grip on his ankles and switched to a more comfortable position.

Still we said nothing. I knew I was red in the face. Had to be. Couldn’t for the life of me think of anything to say. Finally, Harper broke the silence.

You shouldn’t have come looking for me, he said, picking up a rock and chucking it into the distance. Not now.

Why not?

Because either way, you’ll be going away disap­pointed. If I don’t turn out to be who you wanted me to be, then you go away disappointed. And if I’m exactly who you wanted me to be, you’re meeting me just as I’m leaving town, so you’ll still end up disappointed.

You are, I said. Who I wanted you to be.

Then it’s worse. That kind of disappointment is much worse.

You’re not going away until the end of summer, are you? We’ve still got the summer.

It’ll just make it worse for you, getting to know me better right before I go away. Just as you’re feeling comfortable with me, I’m gone.

I already feel comfortable with you.

Why are you turning all red then?

I’m sure my red face only got brighter.

You know.

Harper just stared at me.

Yeah, I guess I do. Why did you do that?

I don’t know.

Sure you do.

Why do you think?

Harper looked serious.

Look, Nathan, you can’t go around kissing guys like that, okay? Some dude’s going to pop you one if you surprise him like that.

I don’t go around doing it. There’s no one else I’d kiss.

So, I’m the lucky one.

I didn’t say anything. He sounded a little sarcastic.

Look, I didn’t mind it, he said. You’re so young and hairless, kissing you is almost like kissing a girl.

I didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t a compli­ment either.

It’s just that guys don’t do that, you know? Unless they’re gay.

I kept my silence. Harper kept staring at me.

So, are you gay?

I didn’t know what to say. I knew what he meant, and I guess it sure seemed that way to both of us. But I didn’t want to say it. I wasn’t ready.

Look, forget I asked that, Harper said then. You are or you aren’t. It doesn’t matter. You obviously like me, remembering me for three years after seeing me once in a bowling alley. Maybe you’re gay, maybe it’s just a crush. Those things happen. Doesn’t matter to me.

At first, I could not think of one thing to say that wouldn’t make matters worse for me. Then I thought of something.

You brought me my cheeseburger.

I what?

I ordered a cheeseburger at the bowling alley. The girl behind the counter just let it sit there, getting cold. You got up and got it for me.

So, this is all because of a cheeseburger, Harper said, smiling. I became your cheeseburger hero, and today you came to find me to thank me with a kiss.

No, I admitted. That’s not it.

Did the cheese make the difference? If it had just been a hamburger, would you still have kissed me?

I laughed. Probably. Can’t say for sure.

Harper mussed my hair.

I’m glad you like me. It’s flattering. Like I said, you’re a cute kid. Nice, too.

I could see he was trying—hard—to make me feel better.

Thanks, I said.

Harper smiled. No problem, amigo.

He looked at the sky, at the position of the sun, and said, Come on. We better get going.

This is it, I thought. Now he gets rid of me, ditches me forever. I have it coming I guess.

I followed him back down the trail. We still had our shirts off when we reached the cycle, and Harper produced a box of baking soda from within a compartment and be­gan rubbing it under his arms. I supposed this was his idea of deodorant, but asked anyway, Why do you keep that in there?

For the battery. It helps stop corrosion.

You think getting kissed by a boy corroded you?

Harper once again mussed my hair. Wise guy. Because I think the time has come for people to rub baking soda under their arms. Want some?

He offered the box, and I took it. I rubbed the powder under my arms, thinking about him mussing my hair, glad he seemed to like touching me.

You want to come over and watch TV? Harper asked.

I was so happy that he wasn’t just going to drop me off at my bike and say, See ya.

I called Mom on Harper’s phone to let her know where I would be.

"At a friend’s house?" she repeated, making me sound pathetic. But she was right; that never happened.

We retrieved my bike, and I followed Harper to his house, where I met his mother. She seemed just as pleas­ant as her son.

Who’s this guy? she asked Harper, looking at me. But it was a friendly question, and her smile was the infectious kind.

Found him by the side of the road, Harper answered.

Well, be nice to him then, she said. He could turn out to be an angel. You never know.

Come on, Harper said to me. Let’s go watch TV.

You might have to wait if you want to watch the big screen. Glynn and Stacey are watching a movie. But I think it will be over soon.

No problem. The one in my room is fine.

Glynn and Stacey turned out to be Harper’s younger sisters. Glynn was nine; Stacey, six.

How’s the movie? Harper asked, rubbing Stacey’s head and sitting beside her. I took a seat in a nearby chair.

Great! said Stacey.

Boring! said Glynn.

Blink your eyes really fast, Harper advised her, It’ll seem more like MTV.

It’s not boring, Stacey insisted. I like it.

It is too boring, said Glynn. I want to watch something else.

Let her watch it, Harper said. I imagined their mother had been telling her the same thing before we arrived.

Glynn threw a small pillow at her sister, muttered scrotum, and left the room.

Stacey just looked at Harper and smiled. He put his arm around her, and they continued to watch the movie for a while. There was a girl in the film who screamed so incessantly and so loudly and, at times, so unnecessarily, that I found myself quite happy when Bigfoot ripped her head off, though I normally am not a fan of violence. I continued to be happy when Harper said, See ya, Sis, and headed for his room.

Want something to drink? Mrs. Clements asked as we passed the kitchen. I think we’ve got some apple juice.

Later in life, I would wonder about all this apple juice being consumed in America. It was something I no­ticed: When I was in someone else’s house, and they of­fered me a drink, they generally regarded their refrigerator with detachment, as if they had no idea what was inside, or how it got there. If the offer was to an adult, it usually ran something like, Let’s see, I’ve got apple juice, water, Coke, um, there’s a couple of beer, uh, I think there’s a wine cooler back here in the corner, and there’s tonic water if you want a gin and tonic. The al­cohol always came last, as if the hosts weren’t sure if it was acceptable to admit having it, or as if they hoped it would be refused so they could drink it later themselves. And if the offer was to kids or teenagers, soft drinks were mentioned last (and alcohol not at all, obviously) as if they, too, were a possible source of embarrassment. The juices always came first, and generally it was apple juice.

I didn’t want apple juice but was about to accept be­cause I thought Harper must drink it. But Harper saved me. No, Mom, we need some game food. I’ll grab us a couple of Cokes and some chips.

Game? It was summer. That could only mean one thing!

Baseball!

I am a baseball fanatic. Ask me any reasonable ques­tion about baseball and I can answer it. I can sit for hours, which is what it takes, watching a game, whether it’s pro­fessional or peewee league. I love all the strategy. I love the tradition. I love three balls, two strikes, two outs, ba­ses loaded, down by three in the bottom of the ninth. I love no hits, no walks, 110 pitch count, going into the top of the ninth leading 1-0. I love baseball uniforms. I love Grady Sizemore’s naked pictures, which I had seen online. I love it all.

Although I don’t like wearing shirts in the summer, I do wear a baseball cap—the same one, every day. It keeps the sun out of my eyes, and I just like the way I look when I’m wearing it.

Chapter Two

There are few moments in my early life so clearly etched in my memory as the afternoon and evening I spent with Harper alone on West Mountain and in his room watching baseball on his little television.

His room looked like the room of a future astronaut, of an Air Force cadet, of someone with Harper’s body. There were dumbbells, model aircraft, model space stations, posters of fighter jets, and posters of the cosmos. There was an American flag and a photo of the President. There were photos of his dad, his mother, and his sisters, too, but none of himself. I carefully looked at every article of clothing left in view: a black leather belt, a baseball cap, a brown work jacket with torn pockets and a grease stain, a blue sweatshirt, several muscle shirts, a pair of jeans size 28 waist, 34 inseam. I took in the blue bedspread, the reading lamp, and the shiny black sound system that was Harper’s prized possession. I remember everything. When Harper went to the bathroom, I grabbed one of the muscle shirts—one of the dirty ones—and put it to my face. The smell of Harper made me swoon. It was the odor I’d smelled when we were doing sit-ups on the mountain, when I’d kissed him. If I’d had a backpack to put it in, I might have stolen it.

Most of all, I remember Harper, sprawling on the bed, looking at ease, watching the action, listening to the play-by-play announcer, groaning or applauding on al­most every pitch. I remember Harper jumping in the air and yelling Yes! when our team scored their first run, the high-five that followed, and the little victory dance. We were both at ease now; we had a good time.

When Harper drove me home in his truck, with my bike stowed safely in the back, he slowed to a crawl when I told him my house was just ahead. What’s your phone number? he asked. I gave it to him. As he entered it into his contact list, he said, I’ll call you sometime.

Sure! I answered enthusiastically. Can I have yours?

No response.

You don’t trust me?

I just don’t want you calling all the time. You’re very impulsive.

I couldn’t deny it.

The Academy is a conservative place, Harper continued thoughtfully. Yesterday that appealed to me; now, I’m not so sure. I’ve got more to lose. I’m going to be a cadet, and you’re—well, you’re thirteen. But I’ll call you. Promise. When I do, you’ll have my number.

Okay.

I didn’t want to argue. I never do. My policy is to state my case or ask my question once then drop it. I had asked my question, so I dropped it.

There was a strangeness in the air as he edged the truck toward my driveway, driving in slow motion.

Hey, Nathan?

Yeah?

Thanks for remembering me, okay?

Thanks for bringing me my burger.

Harper mussed my hair, smiling.

We were at my house now. Harper got out and lifted my bike out of his truck bed. I watched his muscular arms flex slightly with the effort, wishing I could go to sleep that night with them wrapped around me, safe. Then I watched him drive off down the road.

Chapter Three

One day Mom announced we were moving to a city nearby. She called it a city to differentiate it from our town. Technically, it is a city, but in my mind, it barely qualifies. It definitely has a small-town feel, but I’ll admit it is different from my home town. The dominant religion is Baptist. Only a handful of people are Czech. Mom said we were moving so she could be closer to work. This made sense unless one knew better like I did. She worked in the city, but I knew she didn’t mind the commute. She always used to say it gave her time to herself to think. Mom is the kind of person who needs that. She needs space, and quiet, and alone time. I learned early on to respect that. For some reason, my father never had. He used to drive her crazy. I had understood that even at the time and used to wonder why he couldn’t. It was almost like he tortured her.

We were moving because she needed to get away. That was all. She needed more space, more silence, more alone time, and although moving from small town to small city might not strike one as something that normally would accomplish that, in this case it would.

Thus, Harper wasn’t the only one leaving town. He would be leaving for Colorado; I would be leaving for Weston.

Meanwhile, we had the whole summer to spend together. At thirteen, that seemed like a lot of time.

He called after a few days, a wait long enough for me to get nervous and anxious, but not long enough to make me a basket case. He invited me to a movie, a science fiction film with astronauts and a planet. We both loved it, and after the show we went for a burger. After Harper asked what I wanted and I said a cheeseburger, he chuckled and told me to go grab us a booth. Thus, once again, Harper delivered a cheeseburger my way, and we exchanged a nice look just before he placed the tray on the table. We both laughed. Our private joke was going to be a cheeseburger. Fair enough.

We discussed the film mostly. There was a lot to discuss. I felt Harper’s enthusiasm for being an astronaut and completely understood. I wondered if I was smart enough to be one myself.

When he dropped me back at my house, Harper asked, You want to work?

With you? Sure!

I’m putting up a new fence before I go. I started on it two days ago, but there’s a lot more to do. I could use some help, if you don’t mind working for free. I’d like to pay you, but I’ve got to save my money for school.

I thought about him paying for the movie and the burger.

I’ll ride over, I said. What time?

No, no, said Harper. If you’re going to help me out for no pay, I don’t want you tiring yourself out with a five-mile bike ride to get there. I’ll pick you up. Be ready in the morning at seven. I like to get an early start before it gets too hot.

I’ll be ready.

You sure you want to? I feel like I’m taking advantage of you, because I knew you would say yes just to be with me.

You’re right about that, but you’re not taking advantage of me. It’s a win for both of us.

That’s awesome, Harper said.

You’re awesome, I told him.

Make it two, Harper said, and he gave me a fist bump.

Chapter Four

Mom met Harper the first morning he picked me up. She was pleased I’d found someone to hang out with for the summer. With her working, and with my lack of social skills, I was often left home alone, not doing much of anything.

Harper had introduced himself to her. I immediately told her he was going to the Air Force Academy and wanted to be an astronaut.

Very impressive, she said. That’s highly ambitious.

It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, Harper said. I wasn’t sure he knew what to make of the highly ambitious remark, but I knew Mom had meant it as a compliment. We didn’t have too many people in our family who were highly ambitious. I could read her mind; she was hoping some of his high ambitions would rub off on me. Then, she actually said it. It was all I could do to keep from groaning.

Aren’t parents wonderful? Harper asked once we were safely in the truck. They’ll embarrass you every time.

This time I did groan.

No worries, he said then. She was just telling me she hoped I would be a good influence. Parents have a hard time trusting their sons and daughters to people my age because people my age tend to party a lot.

I hadn’t thought of that.

But I think I’m the one who needs protecting from you, he said, glancing over at me and winking.

You know if you wink at me, you just need protecting more, I said.

Don’t you like it?

I like it.

I guess I shouldn’t mess with you, knowing how you feel.

I said I like it.

We worked every day that week on the fence. Harper was starting a summer job the following week and wanted to get it finished. The work was hard, but I didn’t mind at all. I loved being with Harper every day. It was just the two of us working. His mom worked, just like mine did. His sisters would show up now and then just to hang out. They obviously loved their older brother, and he loved them. But they would get bored or hot and go back to the house, leaving us to ourselves again.

I loved seeing him each day almost as soon as I woke up. I loved working alongside him, Harper in his muscle shirt, sweaty and beautiful, and me, shirtless, beside him, both in our baseball caps and wearing work gloves. I wish now I’d gotten a picture of us. I’d like to have that. I loved watching the sweat stains grow on his muscle shirts, when he wore them, or run down his back and chest, when he didn’t. Most of all, though, I loved talking to him. There was plenty of time to talk, to get to know each other. He talked to me like an equal. Like someone who was important to him. Like a friend.

We would take a break for lunch. Harper would get a meal on the table for all of us. Sometimes it was leftovers from the family dinner the night before. Sometimes it was frozen pizza. Sometimes it was sandwiches. Sometimes he heated something from a can. What I liked best was when he made something himself, even if it was only hot dogs or grilled cheese sandwiches. The best thing he made, when he didn’t mind taking the time, was spaghetti with marinara sauce. He also made this killer dish of ground beef, potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. He told me it was a Czech dish. That took a while to make, though, so he only made it for us once.

We didn’t rest after eating, just got back to work. We moved a bit slower in the afternoon heat, however, and once it got to be about four o’clock, the heat would get the better of us and we would call it a day. Harper would give me a ride home, then pick me up the next morning to repeat the routine. I never grew tired of it.

One day as we finished up and were walking back to the house, Harper pointed to my arms and chest and said, Look at you. You’re getting muscles. You needed this.

When I got home, I studied myself in the mirror. Was I cute? Was I getting muscles? The answer to the second question was yes. I looked at my body closely. It was the first time in my life that I was attracted to me.

We were working again the next day when some of Harper’s high school buddies pulled up in their truck, got out, and talked for a while. They didn’t offer to help, and they seemed to hardly notice I was there. I just kept working, as did Harper. By then I knew what to do. I listened to their conversation, older boy conversation, enticing and off-putting at the same time. They would throw in the random cuss words or mention some part of a girl’s anatomy that I usually didn’t hear discussed. Harper might comment. He might not. But he never cussed, and he never seemed all that interested in the girl talk. One of the guys would look my way from time to time, but he didn’t seem to take interest. It was more like one looks at a dog walking around if there’s nothing to look at but the dog. He probably thought I was one of Harper’s cousins or a neighbor. After they left, Harper resumed talking to me as if there hadn’t been an interruption. He didn’t mention them at all or comment on anything they had said.

They’re not important to him, I thought to myself. He’s glad they’re gone.

Not much more to fence, Harper said, as we walked to the house. I can finish up the rest, if you’re tired of it.

No, I said. I like working with you. I want to.

Good, he said. I like it when you’re with me.

I felt proud. I wanted to carry the conversation further to see what else he might say, but I listened to an inner voice that was telling me Harper had said enough.

We left it at that.

Chapter Five

Once Harper started working his job, I was lucky to see him once a week. I never called him. I had his number now, but after him not trusting me with it at first, I was reluctant to use it. Unless he called me, we didn’t talk to or see each other.

We went to another movie once. Two or three times I came over to watch a game with him. We’d sit in his room lifting the dumbbells while we watched. More often, we would get on his bike and ride around. I enjoyed that a lot. Harper knew it and was smart enough to understand why. It wasn’t only the exhilaration of the speed and the wind, it was the closeness of our bodies, once again experiencing his smell. It was sitting behind him with my legs spread around him, holding on to him.  And mostly it was the fact that when we were on the bike together, it was just the two of us alone.

We rode in silence, saving our conversation for when we’d stop somewhere, get off the bikes, and talk. Ever since we had worked on the fence together, conversation was easy between us. If we didn’t have much to say, that was fine too. We were comfortable with each other, including our silences.

As summer drew to a close, Harper began getting things ready for college, and Mom and I began packing for our move to Weston. If Harper hadn’t been leaving, I would have probably been kicking and screaming to stay put, closer to Harper’s house. But he was leaving, and the thought of being there without him was almost more than I could stand. I was glad we were moving too. I knew I would need a new start perhaps even more than Mom did.

Chapter Six

Before he left town , Harper took me back to West Mountain on his bike. We found the clearing and the log and sat on it just like before.

Push-ups? I suggested, only half serious.

Harper just smiled.

If you want.

Sure, I said.

That was the only way I knew to get his shirt off of him. I hadn’t seen him shirtless since we had built the fence together, and I missed it. I’m not sure he knew what I was up to. It’s possible. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t have minded doing that for me. I knew that by now.

So Harper did his push-ups, and I watched until he told me to join him, just like the first time. Then after a while we took turns doing sit-ups, spotting each other, same as before. There was no kiss this time, and neither of us mentioned that incident. There was just a kind of sadness that this was going to be the last time we were together until at least Christmas.

I kept staring at his body: his stomach, his chest, his biceps, and his face. When it was my turn to exercise, I noticed he did the same to me.

Once we tired, we lie down next to each other, our heads on the log. For almost an hour we lie there taking in the sky and the smell of mosses and other aromatic plants I could not identify. What must this place look like from space? Darkness and blind mazes? One day, Harper would know. I felt sure of that.

Suddenly, I was surprised by the taste of salt in my mouth, then realized my face was wet. I wiped my face, but not without Harper noticing. He stood up. I did the same. He grabbed me in a bear hug and said, I’m gonna miss you, buddy.

I’ll miss you too.

I can see that.

Sorry.

No problem. Always be honest with me. Nothing wrong with honest tears. I feel like crying myself.

We got back on the bike and headed home. When we parted, we didn’t say much. Our parting had taken place on the mountain where it belonged, and we were both smart enough to know that.

Chapter Seven

H ello?

Nathan?

"Harper!"

You busy?

No.

Want to hang out?

You know I do! When?

Now?

Absolutely!

Give me your address. I’ll come get you.

It was Christmas. Harper was back in town for a couple of weeks. We had exchanged a few messages since last summer, but not as many as I thought we would. I had made quite a few friends at my new school and in my new neighborhood, and no doubt Harper was meeting new people too, not to mention keeping up with his new routines as a college student and a cadet.

Standing at our door, he looked better than ever, big grin on his face, happy to see me. Mom greeted him, and he came in, sat down, and chatted for a while with both of us.

Mind if I take Nathan out for pizza? he asked Mom.

She said, I guess not, and sounded like she didn’t mind at all. Harper was a class act, and Mom seemed to know that.

Hey, buddy! Harper said again in his truck, as if all the preceding greetings and conversation had never taken place — as if our time together only counted if we were alone.

He was smiling at me like no one I’d ever seen before.

Hey.

I said it too casual, like I was trying not to show how excited I was. This was stupid. I tried it again.

Hey!

Harper looked at me like I was mental.

I’ve missed you, he said then, and I could see that he had.

I missed you too, I said, feeling it wasn’t adequate.

God, had I missed him! I thought about that on the way to the pizza joint, about how, while he was away, I had blocked out much of the ache of missing him by concentrating on my new life in Weston, but how now that he was back, being away from him even one more day seemed too much to bear.

God, he smelled good, and looked even better. God, I loved that man! It filled me with pleasure just to look at him again.

You’re looking good, he said.

I am?

You are.

So are you.

You’re growing too. And filling out. You weren’t lying to me about your exercise routine. I can see the results.

I don’t suppose I would ever lie to you.

I wanted to take my shirt off and give him a better look. I was proud of the difference in my body since the last time he had seen me. But it was winter, cold.

That could wait.

Chapter Eight

After pizza, we drove around aimlessly for a while, just talking. We ended up at Lake Weston, a large reservoir suitable for swimming and boating formed by a dam on one of Weston’s two rivers, and Harper drove down some bumpy dirt roads until we were completely isolated. Actually, we had been isolated as soon as we arrived at the lake. No one went there this time of year.

The truck in park but still running, the heater still going, Harper unsnapped his seatbelt and shifted his weight so that he was leaning against the driver-side door, facing me. I turned to face him too.

We already had covered our new schools and our new routines. I had asked a lot of questions about the cadet corps, and I could feel Harper’s sense of excitement with every answer. Now, I figured the fact that Harper had chosen an isolated spot to stop and the way he had repositioned himself to face me were invitations to make the conversation more personal.

You got new friends? I asked.

I guess so, he said, not sounding all that excited about them.

I’m sure the girls have been interested in you, I said, feeling a ting of jealousy at the thought, even as I said it.

Some, he said.

I would think almost all of them.

A lot of them are lesbians.

I hadn’t thought of that.

But I like them, he added. When they’re nice to me, I know it’s because they like me as a human being, they’re not just doing it because they want something from me.

I thought about that for a while.

When I kissed you that time, I said, although I didn’t like bringing it up, is that what you thought about me? That I just wanted something from you?

Harper regarded me before answering.

I didn’t know what to think about you, if you want to know the truth. But I decided to give you a chance. It was a different experience for me, having a boy who hardly knew me in love with me.

We both let those words sit there. Neither of us had ever spoken them before. The last thing I would ever do is deny them, but I didn’t know what to do with them either. They just sat there between us, daring us to say something further or to make some move.

Come here, Harper said.

I moved over next to him and put my head against his chest. I was soon lost in the swoon of his smell.

I could hear his heart beating. I loved that heart. His body felt good below my face. I adjusted my position so that more of my body touched more of his. Even with our clothes on, it was sexy.

I never thought an older guy would let me do this, I said.

Harper put his hand through my hair a couple of times, maybe three, and whispered in my ear, I will.

After night fell, we still sat there, mostly in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence, enjoying the feeling of our bodies next to each other. There was nothing much left to say. Neither of us made any move to do anything more. That might have spoiled everything. I didn’t think Harper would go for that. He had offered me this, and this was enough. A couple of times I thought about giving him another kiss, but I let those thoughts subside and just kept enjoying being right up on his body. I was in heaven.

I’m going to be busy, Harper said when he dropped me at my house.

It sounded like a line.

Hey! Harper could see the dejection in my face. Look at me!

He had never spoken to me that way before. He was always so laid back. I remembered that within four years he would be a second lieutenant. He was learning to command attention. He had mine.

I wish I could spend the whole Christmas with you; honestly, I do. But I’ve got a lot of family here, including two little sisters I love, and I don’t have long in town. If I get a chance, I’ll call you and we can hang out again. But if I don’t, it’s because I can’t manage it, not because I don’t want to.

I nodded that I understood.

I guess I still looked a bit dejected.

You’re special to me, Nathan. Don’t know where the hell you came from, and I never thought I’d have a boy before, but you’re an important part of my life now. I like being with you more than I ever thought I would. I can’t explain it.

Don’t try. Just let it happen.

Okay, philosopher. I’ll do that. Harper’s seriousness changed to a smile.

I smiled back. He winked at me, slowly. It was sexy as hell.

That was the only time I saw him that Christmas break, but it was enough.

Chapter Nine

Harper went back to Colorado. I went back to school. Time flew. It was almost summer, and I had been living in Weston for nearly a year.

I was in contact with Harper from time to time. Once he sent photos of himself in his uniform. How is it I could keep falling in love with him even deeper? I thought I was already in as far as I could possibly go, but I kept finding new depths to it. Harper seemed to know exactly what to do to make me love him more. I could hardly stand being away from him. I couldn’t wait for summer to arrive.

Then I got the news.

I had hoped—had assumed, really—that Harper would be spending the entire summer in Roe, but in May he told me he had military obligations and was taking summer courses. He would only be in town a week or two in August.

When I got that news, I wanted to cry.

Worse, the week or two turned out to be one, and Harper had projects at his house to do, repairs his mother had been putting off until he was home again. I offered to help, but it was a hassle for Harper to fetch me now that I lived in Weston. He did fetch me one day, and I helped him repave their driveway. But Stacey had come along with him when he picked me up, both she and Gwen were ever-present while we worked, and Stacey begged to ride along for my drop off, as well. The girls had missed him too, and although Harper tried to talk her out of going when he took me home, she persisted, he relented, and the bottom line is that the entire summer came and went without me spending ten minutes with Harper alone.

Chapter Ten

The next summer I was fifteen and Harper was, finally, in town. We spent time together throughout the summer, but he was working again, so he wasn’t free as often as I had hoped.

When we did see each other, we spent a lot of time riding his bike. I always loved riding with him. The general pattern was he would pick me up in his truck, we would go to his house and switch the truck for the bike, spend the day together, then I’d get a ride home in the truck. A time or two, however, Harper picked me up on his bike, taking back roads from his house to mine. The younger kids on my street couldn’t get enough of his bike.

Our bike rides frequently ended up on West Mountain, where we would either sit and talk or go for a hike. We also took in a couple of movies, ate half a dozen pizzas, and watched a dozen or so baseball games on TV.

The two most exciting events of the summer were the day he surprised me with tickets to a major league baseball game and the night I spent with him in a tent.

Harper had checked with Mom to make sure the baseball plan was okay with her. Going to the game meant a two-hour drive both directions, so we would be getting in late. The game was a blast; one of my favorite players was on the mound, and the home team, our team, won the game. Harper had chosen a game day when my favorite pitcher was scheduled to pitch, but with rainouts and injuries and changes in rotation, something like that is never a sure thing. Luck was with us, however, and I got to see my pitcher. I also got to see a victory, got to spend three and a half hours in a major league ballpark, and got to spend four hours with Harper on the road.

Harper gave me that.

Midway through the game, we hit the concession stand and bought hotdogs and Cokes. Harper loaded up his hotdog with relish, mustard, and onions, so that it was dripping as he was eating it. I thought