i i i


“CAN I CONFESS SOMETHING?”
“You’re a man trapped in a woman’s body?”
“Hardly that deep.” Mackenzie said. He picked up a pebble and ran a pace ahead of Ian. He threw it into the deep blue ocean. Ian ran after him.
“What I was going to say,” Mackenzie said, “is that I generally expect things to go badly. I just knew it would rain the whole time. Or I’d be stuck with someone I hated.”
“Instead we’re the ridiculous duo,” Ian said.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Mackenzie told Ian. They walked along the shore now. The sky was long and wide. It seemed like the blue was a thin curtain about to fall away with nothing but burning light behind it
“Neither would I,” Ian said. “But Fatass said that. He said we’re the most mismatched friends in the world.”
“People say that about Vaughan and me, too,” Mackenzie said. “Maybe I just make a mismatch.”
But they did look odd together. They were about the same height, but Ian was spiky haired, olive skinned and had a dark line of hair running from his navel to his black trunks. All in all Ian was solidly dark and Mackenzie in his red trunks and blond hair all redness and gold. They were like Apollo and Hades hanging out together.
“What time is it?” Ian said.
“Almost time to get dressed for rehearsal.”
Ian sighed.
Mackenzie touched the other boy on the shoulder, and realized it was the first time he’d touched Ian.
“Hey, a few practices a day for a free trip to Florida during school is not a bad thing.”
Ian shrugged.
“Wanna skip out later and see town?” Ian suggested. He repeated himself as they headed back to the beach, and then he thumped Mackenzie.
“What?” the boy looked sharply at Ian.
“You keep doing that,” Ian said.
“What?” said Mackenzie.
“Exactly. Blanking out. You make me repeat myself. You’re cool for a minute, and then you’re out again. Roy does that. You alright?”
“Yeah,” Mackenzie said.

But Mackenzie screwed up in band practice, and got a dirty look from Lindsay. Stearne said, “Mr. Foster, I know it’s beautiful weather out here, and easy to daydream. But if we screw up, we’re defeating the real reason we’ve come.”
“We’ve come,” Douglas Totnes murmured behind Mackenzie, “to shake our asses and party.”
“Sorry, sir,” Mackenzie said.
But Ian worried more about Mackenzie’s screw ups than even Mr. Stearne. He saw more of them. His friend, whom he cared for, was increasingly distracted and worried about... something.


At lunch Mackenzie was coming toward Ian and the group they were sitting with, when he suddenly dropped his tray and all his food crashed to the floor. The band, as a body of dorks, turned around and applauded. Stearne only frowned and looked worried. Telling them to knock it off would only fan the fire. Ian stood up and helped Mackenzie clean up, all the time watching the spaced out look on his friend’s face. They would have to talk very quickly. They would have to eat and get back to the room so they could talk.
Lunch, making small talk, and having to make it with Fatass was unbearable.
Lindsay saying, “You’re weird as hell. What’s gotten into you, Kenzie?” was unbearable.
The way Kenzie just looked embarrassed and stupid and muttered, “I dunno,” was unbearable for Ian. No one like Kenzie should ever have to look stupid and embarrassed.
They took the elevator to the fourth floor. Ian went down the hall of the Budget Inn, and he unlocked the door. When Mackenzie entered, he shut the door right behind his friend.
“Now here’s the part where I ask what the hell’s going on in your head?” Ian demanded.
“Nothing,” Mackenzie said. Suddenly he threw up his hands and said, “I wish people would leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry,” Ian snapped.
“Not you,” Mackenzie shook his head furiously. “This -- I told Vaughan. I told him that this would be the weekend that I said something. Did something.”
“What are you talking about?” Ian said.
“Sit,” Mackenzie pointed to the first of the twin beds.
Ian shrugged and sat down.
Mackenzie sat down next to him, and then got up again, stopped himself from pacing and turned around to look at Ian.
“I... You’re my friend, right?”
“God, Kenzie! Yes.”
“And you’d still be my friend... No matter what?”
“Did you kill someone?”
“Ian!”
“Sorry!”
“I,” Mackenzie took a deep breath and said, “Ian, I’m gay.”
Ian just stared at him, his mouth hanging open.
Mackenzie opened his mouth to repeat, “I said, ‘Ian, I’m--”
“I heard,” Ian said slowly, “what you said.”
Mackenzie waited for Ian to make a move. To clock him for being his roommate. To run out and tell everyone he was a fag.
“I thought I should tell you because... We’re in the same room and all,” Kenzie said.
Ian nodded dumbly.
Mackenzie repeated, “That’s why I had to tell you. And you’re my friend... I don’t want to hide that from you. And... us in the same room and everything... I thought this would be the right time to say something. But maybe there was already the right time... like before we got here... If you want to leave, get another roommate.... I... I’d understand.”
Then Mackenzie was suddenly silent, waiting for Ian to say something.
At last Ian spoke, sensibly.
“If you were... not gay, you could stay in the same room with girls. I mean,” he shrugged again, and realized he was shrugging a lot, “it would only be like a danger or something, or like deceiving her if you liked the girl you were in the room with. Or,” Ian added, “in your case... the guy.”
Mackenzie turned away immediately, realized what the instinct had given him away, hoped that Ian had not picked up on it. They both froze as if maybe never moving again would stop time.
Mackenzie was hot. His body was prickling and bursting with itchy sweat. He felt like when he was in the Showboat, on stage, under the lamp. Only right here he wanted to die. He literally was afraid to go on living. He didn’t breathe. Maybe if he stopped breathing then no more time would pass, or he would just fade right here.
Ian please speak. Ian please never speak again. Don’t you know you have the power to kill me with whatever words you say?
“Kenzie,” Ian said gently. “Do you like me? That way, I mean?”
Mackenzie nodded very quickly, and then Ian stood up and touched his friend’s shoulder.
“Look at me, Kenzie,” Ian commanded.
Mackenzie turned to Ian and he couldn’t hide anymore that he loved the face he was looking at. The face knew. The brown eyes knew they were loved. The cheeks blushed, the little triangle of hair under the lip, the hand on his shoulder knew they were loved.
“Mackenzie,” Ian said firmly. “We’ll work something out, alright? Did you hear me?”
Now it was time for Mackenzie to look stupid.
“Nod for yes,” Ian said, smiling gently at him.” We’ll work it out. I just need a little time to process it. This. Walk with me, okay? Across the beach?”
He was out of words. His voice had done all it could for the present. So Mackenzie nodded.

The two of them walked through town. This was no Miami. Or maybe it was, Mackenzie wondered. the streets were cracked, and baked to white-grey. Low white stucco buildings were everywhere, along with a few tired sea birds. The hotel Ian and Mackenzie were staying in proved not to be the only worn out hotel on the coast. As they climbed over the sea wall into the beach, they passed a clump of Hispanic kids kicking around a can. A breeze arose, blowing Mackenzie’s hair from his face. Looking back at the kids, Ian wondered if all towns were Jamnia.
“You haven’t really said anything,” Mackenzie said after a while.
“It’s my turn to give you the ‘I’m thinking,’ ” treatment,” Ian said. In the wind his face was grimaced. He gave Mackenzie a tight eyed smile until the gulf breeze faded away.
“That’s what my aunt would call a heavy trip,” Mackenzie said. “What I laid on you.”
Ian just looked at the water as he played with the fringe of black hair on his chin.
They walked until they were out of view of the hotel, and then Ian began to climb a pile of rocks. No, they weren’t rocks. They were a pile of broken concrete slabs that probably made some kind of a barrier against high waves. Ian climbed over those, and held his hand out to Mackenzie whose brown limbs stretched over the rock, and sweat in the sun. Ian did not seem to sweat or to tan at all.
On the other side of the rocks, Ian said, “Look, there’s a boat.”
“If we fell off of these rocks, only the people in that boat would see us,” Mackenzie said. He turned around to make sure. “We’re hidden from the shore.”
“If we fell off they wouldn’t see us either,” Ian said with a wave of his hand, pointing to the boat out in the distance. “That’s not really a comforting thought.”
“When I was little, we used to go to visit our cousins who live up near Lake Erie, and we’d all go over the rock walls. But I wouldn’t go alone,” Mackenzie said. “Cause no one could see you out there. Anything could happen.”
“This whole coming out thing has made you a chatterbox again, I see,” Ian assessed.
Mackenzie looked at his friend -- whom he was in love with -- to see what Ian meant by this. Was he mocking him? Was he resentful? Since he couldn’t tell, he finally asked Ian.
“I’m actually flattered,” Ian said.
Then he said, turning to Mackenzie, “I know you’re not a girl.”
Mackenzie, not exactly knowing what to make of Ian’s knowledge, said, “Okay...?”
“I mean,” Ian explained, “When I... the other day -- when me and Roy went shopping for your birthday present -- he said that the way I acted with you was the way I used to act with Cindy. Like you were my girlfriend. You know? And I got mad at him for trying to say that I liked you that way. I mean... I do like you. And I don’t know why you chose me.”
Mackenzie still looked very confused.
Ian finally asked him, “How long have you been... Thinking about me?”
“Probably since freshman year,” Mackenzie said. Then he clarified, “Not dirty thoughts,” which wasn’t exactly true. “Just... I don’t know.”
“Well, I think that’s sweet, Kenzie. I mean, you’re the one whose funny and smart. And your nice. No, you’re a sweet guy. And you’re... I think you’re attractive,” Ian said at last. “Someone like you. I don’t know why you’re not -- ”
“Straight?”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Ian said. “I was going to say that I don’t know why you’re not attracted to someone else.”
Mackenzie gave Ian and strange look like a dog who’d heard a strange noise.
“This is turning out so weird. I thought-- actually, I never honestly thought of telling you at all I tried not to think of it, but when I had to think of it, I thought you’d hate me and now you don’t hate me at all. You’re telling me this is flattering and all of this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to -- what are we supposed to do. You’re not gay, Ian!” Mackenzie reminded him, sounding a little frantic.
“Mackenzie, shut up,” Ian said, softly. “I’m trying to talk now. What I’m trying to say is that I liked buying you presents, and I liked seeing you go stupid over the things I got you. I... I had to put this thought back in my mind: that it was like getting things for my guy. Not my girl. My guy. What Roy said pissed me off because before he said it I didn’t have to think about it. Shopping for you was the most fun I’d had. I kept thinking about how you’d like this and like that, and up until now I’ve never had to think about the way I think about you. What I mean is when you told me you liked me, the reason I said we’d work something out is because I think you’re the only guy in the world... or maybe one of the only people I’d be cool about hearing that from. I mean... “ Ian frowned. “I need to quit saying ‘I mean’. I don’t really know what I mean right now.”
They sat on the rocks a long time, feeling mutually blown away. Suddenly Mackenzie noticed Ian looking at him as if he were about to ask some sort of a question. Mackenzie looked back, and began to wonder about the brown eyes, the red lips, the blush in those cheeks, the funny, spiky hair, the smell of salt in the olive skinned boy’s flesh, how Ian couldn’t possibly know he was desirable. And then before Mackenzie could open his mouth to say it, Ian’s hands were in his hair, and Ian Cane’s mouth was pressed against his.
Mackenzie’s gut - Midwestern reaction was to jeck away no matter how gay he said he was. He only pulled away for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Not knowing what he was doing, not really having any experience with anyone except his pillow in those moments when no one was around, Mackenize slowly lifted his hands, and placed them in the spikiness - which was very soft, actually -- of Ian Cane’s hair.
His mouth opened for Ian. He felt he other boy’s tongue. His own tongue began to loop with Ian’s, his mouth began to taste Ian’s over and over again. He pulled away. He kissed the eyes and the cheeks and the lips, the ears of Ian Cane. Ian held Mackenzie by the small of his back as Mackenzie kissed him over and over again. Mackenzie was getting hard. He felt like he was swimming, half asleep. This couldn’t be real.
Then he heard Ian say, weakly, “Stop.”
Mackenzie pulled away.
He realized he had halfway climbed onto the other boy. Climbing off delicately, he realized the other boy had a hard on under his trunks. Suddenly there seemed nothing more urgent in all the world than to see Ian completely naked. These weren’t nasty fantasies anymore. This was real. Mackenzie was hot with sex and the sun.
Mom and Dad were younger than I am when they got together. Never before had he perceived what it must have been like, not a fantasy desire, but a need. Ash was the same age I am now, probably younger. And Madeleine and Rodder. Only... They hadn’t been with Ian.
“We need a room or something,” Ian said, trying to laugh. “We can’t do it here on the rocks.”
So Ian had admitted that they were about to do it. All sorts of questions were in Mackenzie’s mind. Shouldn’t they just kiss a little and stop at that? How would he ‘do it.’ to another guy? Where was Ru Paul when you needed him? Her? Where was Vaughan? Mackenzie suddenly held out his hand though he did not look at Ian.
“Let’s go back,” he said. “We got all afternoon.
Ian kissed him lightly, but said nothing. He gave Mackenzie his hand.


They didn’t talk on their way back to the hotel, but they didn’t let og of each other’s hands either. When they went up the side steps and came onto their floor, Ian sighed and then began laughing. Mackenzie joined him. On the way to their room they both laughed and laughed, as if someone had gassed them with something. Ian felt light and strange, boundless.
Lindsay came out of her room when she heard them laughing.
“You two are so weird,” she said, storing all the hatred she could into the word weird.
“Thank you,” Mackenzie cut a bow and stuck out his tongue at his sister. Ian unlocked the door, and pulled Mackenzie in. They continued laughed against each others bodies until first Mackenzie, and then Ian ran out of laughs and half stood against each other, emptied of anything. They sat together on the edge of Ian’s bed.
Mackenzie realized that it was probably time for him to take control.
“You stay right there,” he told Ian, lifting a finger, and he got up to go the little rest room.
Mackenzie’s heart raced. His best friend and brother was back in Ohio, but his best friend and lover was right here, waiting for him. He breathed deeply and touched the smooth place right over his heart. He made his mind practical. What would they do? He’d mastur- bated enough to know that there was going to be a mess. In a few swift moves he got a towel, wet cloths, and he a bottle of lotion. It was water base. Good.
“Have you done this before?” Ian demanded.
Mackenzie, determinedly, only pushed Ian down and or straddled him. At this, Ian started to quake with sudden nerves and Mackenzie looked down at him.
“No, stay,” Ian told him. “I want this. Just... I need to catch my breath. Nerves?” straddled between Mackenzie’s thighs, Mackenzie sitting on his stomach, Ian tried to smile. Now, Mackenzie bent down and kissed him.
“You want me to do this?” Mackenzie whispered.
Gently as a prayer, his eyes half closed, Ian brought Mackenzie’s blond head to his mouth, he said in his ear: “Fuck me.”
So Mackenzie did what he had always wanted to. He tasted the spot of beard under Ian’s lip. He tasted the black, thin beard. They didn’t fuck, at least not immediately. More than anything they danced on the twin bed, and neither mentioned how they wished the bed was bigger. Once they got up to pull back the scratchy comforter and be on the bed sheets. Once they moved to put the towel underneath them, and bring the lotion and wet clothes closer. But basically they tasted each other, dancing from top to bottom, moving in circles. Mackenzie pulled off Ian’s trunks first.
“Oh, my God,” he muttered, and then was on Ian’s penis, trying to see how far it would go down his throat. Ian’s hips bucked up fiercely. His hand planted in Mackenzie’s hair.
“Ah, shit,” Ian muttered. They moved like this a long time. Mackenzie working him until Ian hissed. “Move! I’m about to-- Move, Kenzie!” his voice was half pleading, half angry.
Then he came violently, He cried out like he was in pain. Mackenzie moved back, and gagged a little, but stayed on his cock and kept sucking while Ian’s body heaved and seizured with the impact of his orgasm.
When Ian had come, he was aware that he was still dripping, that his body was making a mess when Mackenzie’s mouth had moved away, and then the other boy climbed on top of him and kissed him and Ian knew they were passing his semen back and forth between their mouths. He had to shut off what he already knew Mackenzie had shut off - because Mackenzie was a neat freak--
Sex is nasty.
Ian found himself moaning under the boy. Mackenzie’s sex had not gone inside him, not all the way really. It slid in and out from the spongy cleft of his ass, above his ass hole. Mackenzie went between his legs, hard and larger than he thought possible. It went along his balls. He felt Mackenzie balls against his. The look on the blond boy’s face was determined. His tongue was between his lips, sweat was dripping from his face. His body was so smooth, flowing around and through Ian’s. What else could be this smooth? Together they moved sharply. Together they moaned. Together they closed their eyes. Mackenzie shouted, arched up, and shot out and then together they lay in silence.


“You awake?” Ian whispered.
The other boy’s head was on his chest, and he nodded. Ian’s hands were still in his golden hair, stroking his hair.
He pulled Mackenzie a little closer to him. It was warm in that room. Their bodies were hot, and it was a sweet heat.
After they had made love, Mackenzie, in his fastidiousness, had removed the towel from under them and gently wiped Ian’s belly, Ian’s sex, then his own. He kissed him after that and let Ian pull him into his arms.
“I feel like if I talk I’ll cry,” Ian said at last. “So maybe I’ll stop talking.”


When it was time for dinner, Mackenzie whispered for Ian to wake up.
“I already laid your clothes out.” Mackenzie stood over him, hair tousled, bare chested in jeans, silhouetted by the sun filtering through the curtains of the room.
“Oh,” Ian sat up, looking surprised, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He said, “Did you shower? I know you like to be clean and everything.”
“No,” Mackenzie shook his head.
This pleased Ian for some reason, and he said, “I feel like if I shower I’ll get you off of me. I like your smell.”
Yawning he stood up and began to pull on the boxer shorts, Mackenzie had lain out for him.
“You smell--” he said, coming close and smelling Mackenzie’s throat so that the other boy backed away and grinned, “better than cologne. I could smell you all day long.”
“You can have my smell then,” Mackenzie chuckled, and tossed Ian his favorite black tee shirt. “You can have it, bottle it, and sell it in France. I don’t want it.”
Ian pulled the tee shirt on after pulling his jeans on. He jammed his hands in his pockets and biting on his lower lip, stared at Mackenzie, grinning.
Mackenzie reached up and stroked the hair under Ian’s lip.
“I think that’s...” Mackenzie swallowed, still a little nervous, “the cutest part of you.”
“This?” Blushing, Ian turned away to pick up the pile of towels and clothing on the floor, and murmured, “You’ve seen me naked and my stinger is the cutest part of me. I’m in trouble.”
“I didn’t say it was the biggest or the part that tasted the best--”
Ian looked up at his friend in shock.
Mackenzie went on unperturbed, “--so don’t shave that off either.”
“You’ve grown vulgar in your old age,” Ian told him.
“Did I offend you?” Mackenzie tried to effect a Vaughan attitude, which didn’t work because he had turned completely red at his own words.
“Did you care if you did?” said Ian.
“Not really. Ouch! Hey, no beating your friends with towels!”

TO VAUGHAN THE MOST MARVELOUS transformation was the one the men underwent upon entering choir. He parted from them early to enter the large, dark, heated chapel. He and a few others were in the darkened pews looking past the grille like spies into the rest of the chapel with its rows of lecterns across the stone floor from each other, and the altar ahead. The altar with its white cloth seemed quiet and expectant. Christmas was over. Lent was yet to come. There was a large mural of Christ with his heart open and a woman kneeling before it. Vaughan could not see it clearly, just the hand open to the heart, the shadows of Jesus’s face, a trace of a hand. Above the little golden tabernacle behind the plain altar was a large crucifix of polished wood
Suddenly, from beyond the walls of the chapel, he heard the chanting of men, polyphonic, rough.

“The Lord’s kindness is everlasting to those who fear him....”
The simple line stretched out and then from either side of the chapel came men, arms tucked into the sleeves of their brown robes, filling the chapel in double file, bowing before the altar, and then heading, businesslike into the lecterns while singing:

Bless the Lord, Oh, my soul, all my holy being bless his name
Bless the Lord, Oh, my soul, and forget not his benefits.
The antiphon that stretched out across the chapel and rose up to the roof while the bells of the friary rang:

“The Lord’s kindness is everlasting to those who fear him...”

Over and over they took up the chorus until the whole body of friars stood behind their stalls.

The Lord’s kindness is everlasting to those who fear him...”

And so they began to chant the psalms.

Hidden away in the darkness, Vaughan heard the voices of praise thrumming. It wasn’t a monotonous drone, but something like thunder in the distance, natural and powerful, about to bring a storm. The lamps above the altar flickered over the mahogany body of Jesus stretched out on the cross.
So from then on Vaughan did not miss an office. Friday night, he sat curled into the window casement of the spare, clean room he’d been given when there was a knock on the door. He never knew how large Lake Clare was. It had to stretch out a mile or so. On the other side were the small twinkling lights of Jamnia.
“Come in,” said Vaughan.
Brother Paul came into room grinning, looking too tall for the place.
“It looks so far away. Doesn’t it?” Vaughan said, pointing out the window to the lights of the town. “Like it’s another world.”
“That’s how I felt,” Paul said, “when I first came here. It’s why I almost didn’t come.”
Vaughan looked up at the older man who shrugged and then said, “It’s also part of why I stayed. I came to say, you do know you don’t have to come to all the offices.”
“But I want to,” Vaughan said. “I don’t know what the point would be in coming here and missing that.”
Paul grinned at the young man’s seriousness, and then said, “Well, good then. Sleep well, Vaughan. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Vaughan said, and continued looking out the window.
He was only at the window for a few minutes, and had started to yawn when he risked threading his way around the monastery to find the chapel. He told himself that it was right under his room, so he shouldn’t have to go too far.
When he entered through a side door, it was darker than before with only a lamp over the white clothed altar. The light shone shining on the beaten gold of the tabernacle, along with a red votive before the statue of Mary on one side one before Saint Joseph on the other.
Vaughan’s bare feet padded across the cool stone floor, and he knelt before the altar. He looked past the shadow of the crucifix to the face of Jesus in the mural. It was a solemn, not unkind face. He looked capable of being amused by stupid things was all Vaughan could think. He knelt for a very long time, and then said, “Lord, if I knew what to say to you, I’d say something. But I don’t, so if you don’t mind, I’d just care to sit awhile.”
The lamplight flickered on the somewhat amused face of Jesus, who seemed not to mind at all.

And now Vaughan’s head was filled with words of which he’d always assumed he understood the meaning. Words such as holy, and ordinary and extraordinary. These men were like none he had ever met before except, in many ways, Uncle Ralph and his father, which made sense because both had lived here. The one thing that made Julian and Paul and Mario and the others extraordinary was that they were really quite ordinary. It seemed that Vaughan met very few people who were content to be ordinary. Everyone was trying to be someone. Here Paul was yawning through offices while Mario jabbed his finger in his ear and scratched around.
And maybe this was what holiness was, and not the stale genuflecting and pious eye turning he sometimes saw in church. There holy people were special and holy people were holy by their own effort. Here it seemed like holiness was something that would come regardless if you asked for it or not. If you merely sat around and let it hit you, it would. Maybe?
Saturday afternoon rolled around and Vaughan was packing up, knowing he would catch the evening bus back into town--because buses did not run on Sunday in Jamnia. Vaughan went down to the chapel for awhile to not-pray. He didn’t know what prayer was really. People begging God for things, and then when they didn’t get them saying something pious like, “God works in mysterious ways,” or “his ways are not our ways” or “God never shuts a door without opening a window”. Vaughan was beginning to think that these were all ways of dealing with the fact that most of the things you asked for you simply did not get. That God did not give them. This had seemed blasphemous, but now Vaughan wondered why the creator of the universe even should be a galactic jinni.
Vaughan looked up at the mural which seemed older in the light of day, filmed over by candle smoke and dust.
“Actually, if you did give people everything they asked for, I’d start to wonder.”
“Hum?” Vaughan turned around and saw Friar Julian.
“I was just wondering,” Vaughan said, candidly, “if maybe God’s not giving us everything we ask for, and not talking is an elaborate ploy to increase faith.”
Julian chuckled. “You mean the further something is from us, the more we respect it?”
Vaughan was a little surprised the friar had caught on. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s exactly what I mean. But that doesn’t seem right.” At last, he said, “That would be like playing games, and that’s something... I would do.”
“Maybe,” Julian suggested, sitting beside Vaughan on the altar floor, “it’s just that God isn’t a big talker.” He looked up at the mural behind the crucifix. “I’ve often thought that’s what it is. I hate that newfangled business people give you about prayer being conversation with God. That’ll really mess you up if you believe it. Some people, they believe it so they even make up the answers in the their head. Pitiful, pitiful things.”
“I was thinking,” Vaughan said at last, screwing up his face, “when I came down here, I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t know what to say. I just came to sit. Not- sit and think. But just sit. Because it’s almost like thinking is a waste of time, is something you’re doing... You know. To distract yourself from God. I guess I just wanted to sit and... be?”
“This is prayer,” Julian said with a bright smile. “And not just to be, but to be available for whatever God has or wants. That’s love and that’s what prayer is.”
“I came here because I never learned much in school... Catholic school,” Vaughan clarified. “That’s why I told my father I wanted to go to public. That and all of my friends were going. In school it all... religion... seemed so stupid and I thought... there’s got to be more to it than this.”
“Is there?” Julian asked.
Vaughan held out his hand, tipped it, and said mischievously, “A little.”
The old friar threw back his head and laughed.

Paul wore black jeans and a parka to accompany Vaughan to the bus.
“You know, I’m sure one of us could have just driven you back home.”
The night was settling in.
“I had thought about that,” Vaughan said. “I chose not to ask, but I had thought about it. I also thought that since I came alone, I should leave alone... Have some time to think on the bus.”
As if ‘bus’ were a magical word, Paul pointed to their left, south to the road shaded by blue grey twilight and they saw the bus coming forward.
“I’ll tell you one secret,” Paul said as the bus approached. “Every night before you go to bed, for a week, ask yourself what the most important thing is to you. And then say your prayers. Don’t pray for it yet. After a week, pray for the most important thing.”
As the bus stopped, Vaughan looked at the friar quizzically. The boy climbed on, Paul handed him his duffel bag.
“Is there a morning secret?” Vaughan asked.
“That’s for when you come back,” Paul said with the slightest hint of a smile. Then his face was gone as the bus departed. The bus shot on through the night. Vaughan realized he’d caught the wrong one. He’d caught the one he’d started out on which meant it would go to Bashan before he got back to town. It sped through the night, occasionally touching Lake Clare, and then it went through the streets of Bashan. Nothing was happening here. It passed the large shadow of the old brick high school, and then turned around. Once the bus touched the highway. Vaughan checked the schedule again to make sure this bus actually went back into town. After a while they were barreling back into the city he’d spent his whole life in. This bus would stop right before Michael and then he’d have three or four blocks to walk home. There was no need to get a transfer for the Number Nine.
The bus stopped, and he thanked the driver and told him to have a goodnight. Maybe the man wondered what Vaughan’s story was.
It was so cold out here Vaughan Fitzgerald could see his breath. He could not wait to get home. His feet tramped on cold concrete. As he walked in Jamnia again, he thought about his friends and family. He wondered how Mackenzie and Ian were in Florida. He hoped they’d brought him something back.
“I hope they won the band competition,” he said. Then watching his breath freeze on the air he realized he didn’t care.
When he entered the house the lights were on, but there was no sign of his father. After a few days of living in a house of peaceful men who lived and let live, Vaughan did not look for the old man, but climbed the steps, went to his room and undressed before climbing into bed.
Suddenly he flicked on the light and said, “What do I want more than anything? And... don’t forget to say my prayers.”


i v


MACKENZIE FOSTER HAD NEVER CARED for the word “secret”. It reminded him of the dirty little kid on the playground, desperate for a friend who would say, “I’ll tell you a secret if...” Secrets had never been a part of Mackenzie’s life. Yes, there were things that were no one else’s business, but that wasn’t quite the same, and he had never prefaced anything he told Vaughan or Tina with, “You can’t tell this to anyone...”
He and Ian had not said that to each other, but they moved about in sweet secret. He wasn’t sure which part of their protocol was a disgust of public displays of affection and which was the fear that someone would call them fags. But they sat at dinner, normal as usual, their feet linking under the table, eyebrows arching, wondering if anyone caught on. Saturday morning, they sat together in the conference before band practice, close together, thighs pressed together. Went out from the rest of the band, roamed this wretched little Florida coast town laughing, catching hands, pulling back into secret places to kiss.
Kissing was only a part of it. For Mackenzie the best part was the ability to wrap his arm around Ian’s waist, to let the other boy stroke his hair and smile into his eyes, lay close beside him as they slept, in the same bed, doing nothing, but listening to each other breathe. The best part was how there was no wall between the two of them, how Mackenzie was free to look into the other young man’s brown eyes and see what was there, which was adoration.
Yes, the best part was sleeping in the same bed. The realization that really, if two bodies were spooned together they could fit in a twin bed, even when they weren’t doing anything. The give and take of the eventual lovemaking was wonderful. The heel of Ian’s hand pressed in his mouth to keep him from shouting was wonderful, the length of Ian’s body beneath him was wonderful, Ian biting down on the pillow in response to him was blessed. The smell of the bed that was the smell of them -- this was wonderful too.
Mackenzie learned that the heart would instruct the body if the mind shut off what it had been told for a long time.

The band competition was Saturday afternoon, and they had lost royally. The boys stood in their uniforms on the edge of the field, laughing with the band they’d lost to. It had been a group of kids from another Ohio town.
“Now we get to go to the finals,” Simon said, a boy who looked like he was going a little bald a little early. “Which is in New Jersey!” the rest of them laughed.
“Lucky fuckers, quit while you’re ahead!” Sy told Ian and Mackenzie. They were standing with Douglas Tierney and Nick Stearne.
Lindsay came over to them and said, “You two are assholes!”
Mackenzie lifted an eyebrow. Nick Stearne stared in amazement.
“Stearne’s pissed off because we lost -- which is probably because you!” She pointed at Ian, “and you--!” she pointed at her brother, “have been goofing off the whole time, and now this!” she pointed at Simon and the boy and girl with him, in yellow and blue uniforms that looked just as ugly as Jamnia’s white and red.
Lindsay went on, the feather’s of her hat tipping in her face, “You’re acting like a bunch of fags. Maybe because you are!”
The hairs on Mackenzie’s neck shot up and smoke and iron filled the back of his throat. His skin pricked and he heard himself hiss: “And you’re acting like a two dollar snank whore with a stick up her ass.” Then he added, with a cold smile, “Maybe because you are.”
Lindsay went red and tramped away.
Ian looked at his.... Mackenzie in shock. Doug Tierney said, “I’ve never seen you like that, Kenzie.”
“But she was out of line.... And wrong,” said Nick Stearne. “My brother doesn’t give a shit. Not really. And you guys didn’t screw up the competition anymore than anybody else did.”
Simon, the boy from the other school who had the thin marmalade hair, asked Mackenzie who “the bitch,” was.
“My sister,” Mackenzie replied.


That night they were supposed to hang out with Simon and his friend Andrew who went to Willoughby School in Lassador, Ohio. They’d all just be a few lucky Buckeyes who’d won a trip to Florida.
Ian remained quiet and brooding after Lindsay left, and while part of Mackenzie worried that this was trouble for their new relationship, the other part was turned on by Ian’s moodiness. On their silent way back to the hotel, all the visceral feelings that Ian incited in Mackenzie messed with his gut. I love you. I want you so much. What we’ve done has got me into so much trouble because if you ever turned your back on me after making love to me... I’d kill you. Or kill me. You’ve made me desperate.
Had he made Ian desperate? Or just disturbed?
When they got back to the hotel room, very business like Ian took him into bathroom, and he planted his hands on the sink. Then, wordlessly, he took down his pants, and Mackenzie knew to take his down too. Mackenzie pulled out the Vaseline and Ian pulled him inside.
“I don’t want to hurt--” Mackenzie started. Ian pulled him deeper inside. Mackenzie said nothing. There was no ripping, but it was tight in him. Soft as satin. Mackenzie felt like he was opening the door to something, and Ian’s hands were planted on his own ass, bringing him in further. They couldn’t talk. There was no noise to be made. This was the holiest moment in int the world.. Ian moved him to where it began to feel good until Mackenzie came. It was so powerful that Mackenzie thought he would fall over and had to hold onto Ian’s chest, Ian’s heart beating through the material of the band cape he still wore.
On the floor, Mackenzie turned Ian around and beat him off until he came too, and the two of them were both kneeling on the floor, half dressed, holding each other.
Neither of them said anything. They washed, undressed, went to sleep. When they woke up, Mackenzie reciprocated, and nothing had ever felt as amazing as someone else entering a place he never knew could or should be entered. Nothing felt as good as Ian, groin striving against him, Ian’s body being pulled deeper. And nothing had ever been as painful. He had thought sadomasochist were weird, but maybe they were just ordinary people after all. Then there was nothing to think. There was pain and pleasure, yielding, and his eyes watered and Ian’s mouth was on his ear, and then, in a shock, Mackenzie screamed, and Ian’s hips bucked. He shouted and they both came. They lay together a little before climbing in the shower together and washing each other. Neither said a word. They climbed into the other bed together to sleep.
“We’ll miss dinner,” Mackenzie murmured.
“Fuck it,” Ian said. “We’ll see Simon and the others at nine. Let’s sleep.”


“Wear the yellow one,” Ian told him, “The short sleeve. I got it for Florida. Wear those faded jeans. Look at you. You look like summer.”
Ian dressed him and held him and kissed him on his lips, on his forehead, on his cheeks, stroked his shoulders. Love was flooding this whole room. It might go out through the windows and under the cracks of the door.
They snuck out the back of the little hotel, past the droning ice machine, arms around each others waists, chatting and chuckling about this and that. They threaded their way through the alley and to the San Rio, the four story white stucco hotel where Simon and the band from Lassador were staying. They had to unlink in order to walk up the narrow stairs that led to the balcony wrapping its way around the second, third and fourth levels of the hotel.
“Our fellow Buckeyes are here!” Simon crowed from the lawn chair, stretching out his arms in welcome. He handed them each a beer, and Andrew waved tiredly. On a little stereo that was on the other side of the screen in Simon’s room, Liz Phair was promising, or rather threatening, “I’ll see you around....”
At first Mackenzie was troubled by the beer, though Ian cracked it open and drank heartily. Wouldn’t they get caught? But Simon’s room was the first -- or the last-- on this side, stuck on a corner of the hotel and he and Andrew had no neighbors.
“Can you believe this,” Simon took out a large soft pack of Marlboro Reds, and gesticulated with a cigarette, offering one to Ian--who took it-- and one to Mackenzie, who refused, “tomorrow we’ll all be back in cold ass Ohio.”
“I just wanna pretend it doesn’t exist,” Andrew said. He was a red head, but Mackenzie couldn’t get the color of his eyes in this light.
Simon frowned in concentration as he lit his cigarette and took the first drag. He handed the lighter to Ian. They were about the same height. He was about the same height and Simon wore sandals that would have to go tomorrow and old faded jeans. He had on an orangish colored long sleeve, and Mackenzie realized that he was checking him out. Not wanting to have sex with him, but just assessing him. He wasn’t hot. he was average, hair orangish, prematurely balding, large forehead.
Ian had sat down on a crate, and patted the one beside him for Mackenzie.
“What year are you guys?” Andrew asked.
“I’m a sophomore,” Mackenzie spoke first. He wanted to talk. “Ian’ a junior.”
“Juniors!” Andrew hooted and gave Ian a fist up, “Simon’s graduating.”
Simon rolled his eyes, and finished the cigarette in a swift drag. He blew out a long tunnel of smoke in disgust.
“The only good thing about that is no more Willoughby High School.”
“And freedom?” Ian suggested.
“Yeah,” Simon shrugged. “Everyone says that,” he swigged from his beer,” but how many free adults do you know? Are your folks free?” Simon asked.
Ian shook his head, and Simon looked to Mackenzie.
“What about yours? See? High school sucks, but the rest of it isn’t much better.”
“God, lighten up,” Andrew said. “Sometimes you’re worse than an Albert Camus novel.”
Mackenzie decided to ask Vaughan who Albert Camus was when he got back to Jamnia.
“Tell me something else you heard at Mass from Father Whatsisname,” Simon said. He apologized for Andrew: “he’s a Catholic.”
“Mackenzie’s Catholic,” Ian said.
“Oh,” Simon blushed, “Sorry. I’m a non practicing... something. I don’t remember what my folks are supposed to be.” Simon shook his head and took out another cigarette.
He offered one to Ian and said, “What are you?”
“Episcopalian.” He added, “Non practicing.”
“Really,” said Simon. “Whaddo they believe in?”
“Good music and sticking their noses up in the air,”
Simon nodded. “Sounds like religion in general.”
“You mean you don’t believe in anything?” Mackenzie sat up and said.
“You do?” Simon said. “I mean, you see people in church, but you know they don’t really believe that stuff. If Christians really believed that Jesus died for them and all that, then would the world be as bad as it is?”
Mackenzie blushed and said, “I don’t know what I believe. I thought I did. If my friend Vaughan was here, he could probably tell you something smart. But it’s just me.”
“I used to say I was a non practicing atheist,” Andrew said cheerily. “I would tell Simon I was an atheist when I first met him. But my parents made me go to church. But then he started laughing at me and calling me altar boy, and he’s like, ‘You’re such a Catholic, Drew.’ Cause I guess stuff slips out if you’ve been fed that way your whole life, you know?”
Simon nodded, patiently, then said, “I never got fed on anything.”
“Your folks never went to church?” Ian said.
Simon shook his head. “They wanted me to ‘find out for myself’’. “ He made quote marks with his fingers. “Now I don’t know fucking anything.”
“Well I don’t know fucking anything either,” Andrew said cheerily. “You want me to go down and get that bag so we can all partake of it? Before we say goodbye to Florida?”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “That’ll be real cool. But I don’t want you going alone to Valencia Street.”
“They’re straight down there, Sy,” Drew said, his hand on the screen as Liz Phair sang “Uncle Alvarez”.
“All the same,” Simon said.
“I’ll go too,” Ian said.
“If it’s dangerous--,” Mackenzie started,
“Relax, my fellow altar boy,” Andrew said. Beaming, he opened the screen, and Ian followed him.
When Simon had heard the door of the hotel room close behind him, and was sure the other two were gone, he said, “Mackenzie, can I ask you a question?”
Mackenzie nodded.
“That girl after the band competition... Your sister. She said something about you and Ian acting like a couple of fags.”
A bolt of fear went right through Mackenzie.
“Yeah?” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Uh, I’ve been trying to figure out if Ian’s your guy or not?”
Mackenzie’s eyes went wide. He had to put together an answer. He had to not compromise Ian, no matter how unashamed he felt. He had to make sure he didn’t feel ashamed. He had to decide if Simon calling him gay offended him? Or could everyone see through the two of them.
Mackenzie asked, “What made you think that?”
Simon shrugged and smiled. “Just... You know what they say about band kids.”
“Do they say that in Lassador?”
Simon’s grin widened. “I think they say it everywhere. I wasn’t saying you two act like fags or anything. It’s just that guys tend to be really shitty to each other, and you all aren’t. So I thought there might be something more than you just being buddies. Plus, you all sort of act like a couple.”
Mackenzie sat on the edge of his seat, and on the edge of a decision to say or not say the truth. Until this moment he had never really known what the truth was.
“If it’s none of my business, fine.” Simon said. “But if you’re holding your cards and wondering what move to make next... I’ll show you my hand.” Simon paused. “Me and Drew have been together for about two years.”
Mackenzie said, “You’re gay?”
Simon chuckled and said, “that’s one way to put it. I don’t know if Drew wants to call it that. I don’t think it’s as uncommon as you think. It goes on all over Willoughby, among the guys more than the girls. I used to think it was bullshit, right? And then one night me and Drew were having a good time, we were a little high, but not out of our minds, just relaxed and happy to be together, and then the next thing I knew I was on my knees thinking, ‘holy shit, I’ve got Drew’s cock in my mouth.’ And the next thing I knew he was doing the same thing to me.”
Simon’s voice was very tranquil. Low and matter of fact. It was almost hypnotic. Liz Phair in background, droning about “Shitloads of money” was hypnotic. The way how in the dark Simon lit the cigarette and the cherry glowed orange and traveled from his mouth and back to it was like something not quite real, out of a half sleep.
Simon went on.
“I think we realized then that all the rumors about guys hooking up weren’t rumors. And then I realized that this wasn’t like that weird shit -- you ever heard of Butter the Bread?”
Mackenzie started to say no. But then he remembered Vaughan telling him about it. It was called Bread and Butter in Jamnia.
“Well, I realized that it wasn’t that shit. And I didn’t know if I wanted to call it gay cause that’s like theatre and Judy Garland and San Francisco and checking out dudes all the time and throwing your hand up in the air saying, ‘Girlfriend.’ I didn’t care about all that. The only thing I cared about was Drew. So we kept it secret. I don’t think we were ashamed. It was just private. It would have been like taking out your heart and laying it on a table. No one has any business seeing it there. And then you’d die if you did that anyway.” Simon chuckled.
Mackenzie said. Mackenzie’s throat was dry, and he had to try to speak twice. Now he asked Simon, “What did you all do? I mean... after the party, after you all had...”
For the first time Simon looked gentle. He didn’t speak right away. He let the cigarette burn and his voice grew so quiet Mackenzie had to lean in to hear it.
“We were at my house. He was staying the night. I locked my door and I brought him into my bed and we made love. It’s weird, you know, what a bed is like after you’ve made love in it. I don’t mean fucked, but after you’ve been with the person you’re in love with.” Simon shrugged. “And we woke up together.
“Neither one of us talked about it really. And then my sister, who’s a book freak, was reading this book, Giovanni’s Room, by this guy -- James Baldwin. And I was like ,what’s that about., And she says it’s great. Wants me to read it. I read it and I start freaking out because it starts out with the two high school guys doing what me and Drew did. Only one of them betrays the other. That’s the lead character. Then later on he meets Giovanni and basically the same shit happens again. And I’m not gonna tell you the end, but I was just like... Shit!
“So a few days pass, right?”
Mackenzie nodded quickly, engrossed in the true story of this new friend of his.
“And I see Drew talking to his girl. And Drew’s a year younger than me, right. He was a freshman then. Which is a little early to commit to anyone. I played it cool while he was talking to her - -turned out to be his cousin. She had just moved to Lassador. I waited for her to go away. Then I went ballistic and I was just like, ‘If you ever cheat on me, you son of a bitch....’ This and that. And I told him, ‘Look, you’re my guy.’ And that’s when we looked at each other and the cat was out of the bag cause we called it what it was. And that was two years ago.”
Simon started laughing, and then Mackenzie did too and suddenly Simon said, looking like a cat on a mouse, “So, are you and Ian together?”
“You’re sharp,” Mackenzie said.
“Sometimes.”
“Yeah, Ian’s my--”
“Boyfriend,” Simon supplied.
“Boyfriend,” Mackenzie said, turning red.
“It’s alright,” Simon nodded. “I won’t tell anyone. I know how it is. You’re like, oh my God-- I’m with a dude. But speaking of God, maybe there is one, for you. The God of outcasts who sent us to you. I didn’t have an older, wiser band member to come to me and tell me... It’s all right, I’ve been there before.”
Simon leaned over and patted Mackenzie on the cheek like a mother, and then put the flat of his hands on the other boy’s head to test his temperature. The screen door came open, and Ian and Andrew stepped through, dropping a plastic bag of marijuana on the little milk crate where Simon had set his ashtray.
Simon went into the room and came out with rolling papers. While rolling the first joint, he said absently, “Drew, I hope you don’t mind, but I told Kenzie about us?”
Drew seemed at first not to know what the secret was, then his eyes widened, trying to read something in Mackenzie.
“Don’t worry,” Simon went on, “Ian and Mackenzie are hooked up too, can’t you tell?”
Ian looked at Mackenzie. Mackenzie shrugged.
When they started passing the joint the rotation went from Simon to Drew to Mackenzie, Ian’s hand went across Mackenzie chest and he took the joint.
“Mackenzie doesn’t get high,” he said.
Mackenzie looked at him strangely.
“Well you don’t,” he said. “Neither will I, tonight.” Regretfully he passed the joint back to Drew.
“Well, what’s point then?” Drew said.
“Be quiet, Drew,” said Simon, who gently took the joint from Drew’s hand and, inhaling while his eyes narrowed, looked on Ian and Mackenzie. He smiled and passed the joint back to Andrew.

THE PHONE RANG MACKENZIE AWAKE early Sunday morning.
“Wha?” Ian croaked. Mackenzie disentangled himself from Ian’s limbs, and reached across the other boy to pick up the phone.
“Hello?” he said, yawning into the phone.
“Is his Mackenzie Foster?” said the voice.
“Yes.” Then: “Simon?”
“Yeah. We’re about to head out, so I wanted to know your number and address and everything. Alright? “
“Yeah,” Mackenzie perked up. “E,” he said, “wake up. Get a paper and pencil. It’s Simon.”
Ian nodded dumbly, and rolled out of bed, tramping across the room. He came back and knelt beside Mackenzie while Mackenzie repeated Simon’s information. Mackenzie gave his address, and Ian gave his.
“Cool, see you Buckeyes later,” Simon said. And he was off the phone.
Mackenzie looked at the piece of paper and said, “I didn’t even know Simon had a last name until now. Pendergast,” he sounded it out. “This has been the weirdest weekend. It’s been like a dream.”



WHEN THE PHONE RANG AT ten o’clock, Vaughan did not bother to answer it because he was sure it could not possibly have been for him.
A minute or so later, Madeleine tapped on the door and handed him the cordless while he was laying his clothes out for school.
“Hello?”
“Vaughan, it’s Ian.”
“Hey! You’re back! How was Florida?”
“It was great. Ah... I wanted to tell you that Mackenzie is going to tell you something later. He said he wants to tell it to you, but he’s scared that you’ll be angry. And so I’m asking you not to be angry.”
“What?”
“Uh,” Ian said on the other end of the phone at a loss for words. “Just... don’t be angry, alright?”
“Sure,” Vaughan muttered. “You can’t kind of sort of hint at what it is?”
“No, Vaughan. I don’t think so.” Then Ian said, “Don’t be mad at me either,” and hung up.
“Well, shit,” Vaughan muttered, and tried to lay out his clothes, but was too distracted. He climbed into bed and said, “What do I wish for more than anything else? To find out what the hell is going on!”

Vaughan stirred from a fitful sleep to feel his shoulder being shaken.
“Wha?” he started.
The light flicked on. Vaughan gasped and hid his face in the pillow. He looked up to see Mackenzie.
“I let myself in,” the other boy said softly. “Your dad never locks the back.”
“What time is it?”
“About eleven. I came over as soon as I could.”
“You could have waited until tomorrow at school,” Vaughan said.
“No,” Mackenzie said, seriously, “I don’t think I could have. I would have gotten here sooner but I had to pretend to go to bed, then get dressed and sneak out. Yeah, and walk over here.”
Vaughan remembered Ian’s cryptic phone call and said, “I heard you have something to tell me?”
“Yeah. But first, what did you do? I know you weren’t in school.”
“I was at Holy Spirit.”
“The monastery?”
Vaughan nodded. “For three days. I think I prayed for the first time. I’m not sure I ever really prayed before.”
“You pray all the time. You’re a better Catholic than me... Not that that’s saying too much.”
“Well,” Vaughan shrugged. “This was something that I don’t think had anything to do with being Catholic.”
“At a Franciscan monastery?” Mackenzie raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t know why I came. Then I thought I came to find out more, and now I think I came to be with Jesus. Jesus was Jewish. He’s not Catholic. So, I don’t know.”
Mackenzie grinned. “You would’ve liked the friends we met last night. God, I can’t believe I was in Florida last night. It was eighty, and I had short sleeves on. We went swiming in the ocean. Then outdoors in the hotel pool. And now it’s winter again.”
“Actually,” Vaughan said, “it’s been winter the whole time.”
“It all seems unreal, like a dream.”
“Now that part I’ll agree with Vaughan said.
“Are you going to the monastery again?” Mackenzie asked.
“I think Brother Paul demands it. I think I’ll be going alot.”
“You gon’ be a monk?”
Vaughan looked surprised.
“You said you wanted to be a saint... Or that you thought you would be. Or something like that. Remember?”
Vaughan nodded.
“So that’s why I wanted to ask you. Will you take me?”
“I take you everywhere,” Vaughan said.
“But maybe things will change,” Mackenzie said, and Vaughan looked at his friend.
“The thing,” said Vaughan, “That you had to tell me?”
“That’s what’s going to change stuff,” Mackenzie said. “I think.”
Vaughan climbed out of bed and knelt on the mattress before his best friend.
Mackenzie looked down at the bedspread, and then looked up again and said, “Do you love me?”
Vaughan looked a little shocked.
“I’m serious.”
“I know,” Vaughan said. “But... Where did this come from?”
“I need to know that you do, and that nothing will change. No matter what I tell you. But I don’t even know how to tell you.”
Vaughan cocked his head at Mackenzie. He looked down at the mattress too, and then when he looked up he bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow before speaking.
“Kenzie?”
His friend looked up at him.
“Did you get a boyfriend?”
Mackenzie’s eyes widened, but he didn’t answer.
Vaughan went on. It wasn’t hard. Mackenzie shouldn’t have been surprised. Vaughan was smarter than most people and knew more about him than anyone else. He heard everything. So Vaughan began to assemble everything he’d been seeing since September and he said, sounding half asleep. “You and Ian are... Together. Aren’t you?”
Mackenzie looked stupid and unwilling to speak. It made Vaughan angry. The stress that had been building up in him shot through his hand, and he hit Mackenzie, saying:
“Answer me!”
“Yes!”
Neither one of them said anything for a very long time. It was Mackenzie who spoke first.
“The whole flight back I kept on wondering what I was going to tell you.”
“You didn’t tell me anything,” Vaughan said.
“I didn’t know how you would react.”
“I don’t know how to react.”
“Do you want me to stay here tonight. So we can talk?”
“No,” Vaughan said suddenly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know how to,” his words were tripping over themselves. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Look at me,” Mackenzie said. Since Vaughan had guessed the truth, his friend had not looked at him, and he needed Vaughan to acknowledge him, to be his best friend.
“No,” Vaughan said after a while. He was trembling. His voice had a tremor in it. “I... this is a lot for me.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” Vaughan glared up at him. “You expected me to be able to take everything. Well, this -- I can’t take. Not right now. Not at the moment. This is too much.”
“I wanted to tell you the whole time. I wanted to tell you. You’re my best friend--”
“Shut up!” Vaughan hissed. “What did you expect me to ask you? Were you gonna share what Ian’s like in bed? Did you..? Wait a minute. Did you just kiss him or what? Did you have sex with him?”
“Vaughan, you’re loud!”
“And you’re pissing me off. Oh, my God, you fucked him.”
Mackenzie’s face went red, and his eyes started tearing.
“Don’t!” Vaughan warned him. Then he stood up and left his own room. Mackenzie got up and followed his friend to the bathroom. Vaughan slammed the door.
Mackenzie’s head hurt. The place behind his eyes ached. He took a deep breath, and then knocked on the door.
“Vaughan?”
“Go to my room or go to--” Vaughan stopped. “Go to my room. I’ll be back.” his muffled voice said through the door.
Swallowing, Mackenzie went back to Vaughan’s room, and sat on the bed.
When Vaughan returned to his room, both boys had regained their usual composure, and Mackenzie’s voice was a little deeper though his eyes were redder.
“You would have hated me if I didn’t tell you,” he said. “I know I put a lot on you this year. I know, Vaughan. And I know this is a lot more to put on you, but I need you to understand me. I’m not asking you to march in a parade with a pink triangle. I’m not asking you to attend the nuptials with me and Ian and be my best man. I’m just asking you not to stop being my friend. I -- this whole ride back I was afraid I was going to lose my best friend.”
Vaughan took a breath. He stood up and closed his bedroom door.
“My best friend is gay. I can handle that. My best friend’s got a boyfriend. I can... I assumed that would happen sooner or later. The part that tips the balance -- ”
“Is that it’s Ian.”
“Yes.” Vaughan laughed and said,” Talk about being the outsider in a TRIO.”
“Wha?”
“It’s always hard in a group of friends,” Vaughan explained. “I mean, you always wonder who’s feeling left out. Or maybe you’re one feeling left out. You know? But... I can’t compete with this. That’s really what I was thinking. We were three friends. In a way if anyone was the outsider it would have been Ian. But now it’s me. I’m the third wheel. When you said what you said to me, that’s really what I was thinking. It wasn’t envy. I don’t want to have sex with either of you. But at the same time it’s like you all were off in Florida having a vacation I couldn’t be a part of. And now -- I don’t really know what gay guys do together. I’m assuming everything. But it’s a relationship that I can’t be a part of. And I think that this is what hurts. This is something that I’m shut out of. I wasn’t counting on this.”
Vaughan sat down on the edge of his bed and sighed.
“I thought,” Vaughan went on, “that I had lost my best friend. Friends. I love Ian too. When you told me that, that’s what was going on in my head. I don’t really know how I’m gonna find my way into this new trio.”
Mackenzie threw his arms around his friend.
“If you didn’t matter, if you weren’t my brother, would I be here right now?”
Vaughan shook his head. More than anything last night this is what hurt about becoming Ian’s lover. It was a physical hurt: that he had hurt Vaughan.
I never intended to hurt you, he thought as he released him, but he didn’t say that.
Instead what he said was, “We got you a really nice present. It’s at Ian’s. Does that make you feel better?”
Vaughan looked at his friend, thinking that this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He knew it was supposed to be.
Well,” Mackenzie said. “Does it?”
Vaughan frowned and said, “No!”