# Maybe—Tomorrow/Chapter 9

​CHAPTER 9
ONCE AGAIN, GAYLORD STROLLED into his schoolroom, this time five minutes early. Last night with Blake a feeling of guilt, sweet guilt, had come over him, but this morning on entering the long hall no feeling of fatigue or depression had engulfed him. He had walked with the springy, confident stride of a youth who was sure, not only that the universe was his, but also that at last he had a definite place in it. There was no doubt whether or not he had the stamina to cope with shrewd, wise-cracking boys like Stud or Pete … he had almost wished to meet them.
His teacher, a somewhat practical and perceptive woman, received him cordially. "Good morning, Gaylord." She closed the book she held.
With the same brightness as the large pin between her flat breasts, Gaylord answered, "Good morning, Miss Grey."
She glanced at her watch and wrinkles criss-crossed her face. "You're a little early this morning."
She had a strained look as though she had been in too many chalk-filled rooms. The pin blazed like cat eyes in the dark, but her smile was natural, untouched by artifice. It made Gaylord think of friends and good people, and the scent of bluebonnets blooming in short grass.
"Am I the first one here?" He noted the vacant room.
"You surely are," she answered, glancing at her watch again. They had a few pleasant words before the door to the hall opened and the new student, wearing creased trousers and a tie over a starched shirt, came, by degrees, in Gaylord's direction. Serenity was ​in every line of his face. It shone from his calm eyes. Only the pulse that beat in the lump in his throat, betrayed the emotional strain he was going through.
Gaylord's fleeting moment of triumph was gone. He experienced a sensation of being caught; felt the old hot blush of guilt on his face. He was afraid this boy knew about what had happened last night. He could feel a warm flush on his face, and as if to get away from the pressure, he fumblingly shifted the books under his arm.
"Oh, here's Glenn. Good morning, Glenn." Then as if struck by a sudden thought, she added, "Did you meet Glenn yesterday, Gaylord?"
"No ma'am, I didn't."
I'm nuts, Gaylord thought. He couldn't know. He's just nervous because he's new here. He is nervous. Look at his Adam's apple … gosh, he's got pretty dimples …
With new courage he smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Gaylord Le Claire, Glenn."
"I'm Glenn," he spoke hesitantly at first, but with growing assurance, went on, "Glenn Rogers." He shook hands with Gaylord.
Miss Grey, the teacher went on. "Glenn's going to be with us now, and I'm sure he'd appreciate your showing him around, Gaylord." The tired eyes tried to smile.
"Yes, ma'am … I'll try," Gaylord said.
Tardily seating himself on the varnished seat, Gaylord glanced at the desk opposite him. The muscles of Roger's face twitched and gave him a look in which respect and a kind of veiled pleasure were mixed. He put his books inside his desk, smiled back, and the two deep dimples formed again in the brownish cheeks.
Why had he thought Glenn Rogers would know about last night? It was absolutely silly, Gaylord told himself and a little of the newly-formed courage crept back.
"You'll like it here," he smiled.
"I think I will," Rogers answered.
Gaylord watched the dimples grow.
"I saw you yesterday and wanted to introduce myself, but I was so late; and then when the bell rang I had to get some books together quick, so I forgot. I looked for you but you had already gone." ​He stirred and the scarred wood creaked beneath him. "Did you make out all right yesterday?"
"I guess so. 'Course everything's new … and different … I …"
"You'll get used to it in no time."
Rogers confessed, "Kinda makes you nervous, though."
"What's your first class?" Gaylord inquired.
"Geometry," Rogers grumbled.
"Mine's gym," Gaylord said. He continued, "From the way you said ‘geometry,' you must like it about as much as I do."
"I hate it."
There was no mistaking the finality of his words. Gaylord grinned, and put a pencil into his pocket. "So do I," he almost laughed. The dull depressing feeling that had seemed destined was gone. He liked Glenn Rogers, felt comfortable talking to him.
Now they were not alone. One by one, students who had been loitering in the hall came into the room. A confused murmur of voices filled it quickly. Miss Grey appeared annoyed, and every now and then glanced up from her book. She was about to say something, then changing her mind, continued the love story she was reading.
"Hello, Gay." The sentence was a treble arpeggio that ended in a tinkle of warm laughter.
"Hello, Joy," Gaylord said, looking into the pretty face with the wrinkled-up nose. Gosh, she's pretty, he thought to himself.
"I thought I was going to be late this morning." She turned from Gaylord to Glenn Rogers, smiled and asked, "And how are you this morning?"
"Oh," Rogers looked from the book to the girl. "Oh, I'm fine, thank you."
"That's good." She went to her seat.
A savory odor, a mixture of hair tonic and soap, tinged the early morning air around the boys in sweat-shirts, tieless collars and dungarees. There were girls wearing low-heeled shoes and gayly-colored skirts, and barelegged girls with soiled blouses carelessly ironed over their drooping shoulders. Some of them looked eager and some bored; most chattered unceasingly; some sat in silence, and some buried themselves in their books.
​"Whataya writing, Clara?" a girl whispered.
"Letter," Clara muttered, absorbed.
"Have you got the answer to Problem Twelve? I can't get it."
"Neither can I. Ask Lucille."
"Where'd ya go last night, Stinky?" asked a gruff voice.
"I ain't saying."
"Keep it then … I just had an extra girl with Florence last night."
"Ya did? Who?"
"Ain't saying."
"Why?"
"Ain't saying."
"Ya don't need to get mad."
Some of them murmured and others tittered.
"Did you see your father … I mean Bob, this morning?" stammered Joy.
"No, I didn't, Joy," Gaylord answered. He thought, now why did she ask me if I saw Dad this morning?
The bell rang for the first class and someone yelled, "There she goes, slaves."
Practically everyone stood and vanished as if by magic.
Gaylord gave a deep sigh and gathered his books. What would happen this morning? How could he face the three in the gym class? Why was he suddenly afraid? What would they try today? Should he speak to them or not? Thoughts, thoughts … when he looked up, he saw Rogers standing beside him.
"Be seeing you, Gaylord."
"Sure," he replied hastily. "Maybe we can have lunch together?" Now why did I say that, he pondered. If he says yes, I won't be able to see Bob until this evening.
Gaylord glanced at Rogers, hoping he'd have other plans.
"That'll be swell," Rogers grinned.
Rogers spoke with convincing sincerity. There had indeed been a great change in his attitude since that first handshake.
"I'll meet you at the front door," Gaylord said, closing his loose-leaf notebook, replacing some of his books in his desk.
"All right. I'll be there."
​They walked together to the door and out into the buzzing hall. In the hall, they parted, going in opposite directions between its brownish, ivory-painted walls. Just a few minutes, Gay was thinking … a very few … since he came into the room and spoke to me … time … weeks, days … what does it matter? What matters, he answered himself honestly, is that he's friendly. I know I'm going to like him. I knew I'd like Bob, too, but it took so long to know him … years … and this has only been a few minutes … funny …
He cut between his classmates and for no reason glanced back over his shoulder. Beyond and over the sea of moving heads, he saw Rogers turn and wave. He sensed a piercing intimacy and wondered why … wondered if the other boy felt it too. Then Rogers turned and was lost in the moving sea.
Gaylord let himself be pushed passively along until he stood against the gymnasium door. It wasn't hard to enter this morning … for some reason he wasn't thinking about those on the other side … He was thinking of the boy he had just met and of two deep dimples.
A girl had described Glenn Rogers to perfection when she had cried excitedly, "Gosh, Mother, doesn't Glenn make a handsome cowboy? Isn't he cute?" She had said this to her parents one Sunday afternoon on the Rogers' farm.
Rogers, straddled across a lively brown horse, romped over grounds laid heavy with cow manure, and the large loop of rope, circling his head, had come down and caught the front foot of a calf. He had jerked the rope quickly, bringing the animal down to the ground. A thrill had rushed through her as she watched the boy quickly dismount and walk nonchalantly toward the wheezing animal. He had looked at her, grinned modestly, and tipped his stained cowboy hat, showing a pale streaked forehead, and damp, dark, plastered hair. The flexed muscles in his slightly bowed legs showed beneath the skin-tight blue jeans, and his hands, she had noticed, were large with long, lumpy fingers. His nose, wide at the nostrils, had a little hump. It didn't detract, only added to the sparkling blue eyes. And while the upper lip was narrow and tightly drawn, the lower ​rolled out in a heavy curve, almost meeting the deep dimples in his brown cheeks.
What had happened next, happened so swiftly that it was a blur of movement and sound. Then he had gone in the barn without even saying, "hello."
From the air, the high school building of Cotton looked like a large figure "H" sprawled on the ground below. The two-story center roof section was red tile and looked pretty from a plane, but the side wings were flat and covered with black tar. The many long lines of steel-framed windows didn't show from here, nor did its three front entrances. All one could see was a rectangular plot of red with a black, dry river-bed at each side.
When the last morning bell rang, Gaylord had gathered his things and hurried down the already crowded corridors toward his room. Gosh, he was glad the morning was over. He paused at Blake's home-room and looked through the square glass in the door. The room held no bronze god and the faces he saw were uninteresting.
In his own home-room he quickly put his books away and combed his hair carefully. A pimply-faced boy was watching but he didn't care. Gaylord thought, "He's just jealous because he doesn't have wavy hair … I don't care what he thinks … nobody likes him anyway … he's such a sneak … always trying to find out something on somebody so he can blab it all over school … well, let him blab about me … I don't care …
He cleared his throat … looked at the boy for a second, then walked out of the room without glancing back.
Rogers was not waiting for him. He went outside of the right wing and stood in the sun … damn, it was hot. He glanced in all directions and not seeing his date, walked back to the side of the building. He looked at the Catholic school across the street and, through the softly lighted windows, could see the nuns in their starched white. It made him feel good inside and he wished the school had been built when he had started. He thought of his first Holy Communion … coming into the church slow and all trembly and carrying a lighted candle. He remembered the girls in sheer, ​white veils, and the smile of his priest when he told him he had chosen the name Michael for his Saint's name.
"So Michael's your favorite Saint? He was a good Saint, Gaylord, and you've chosen my favorite too."
How tenderly the wafer had been placed on his tongue; how warm the host had felt, as he thought all the time of Jesus, his sufferings.
I should go to church, he now thought. Why, I haven't been in months. Even if Mother and Dad don't go I'm going to start going again … everyone should … makes you feel good … it's good for you too.
Gaylord pulled at his shirt. He wished Rogers would come. Somewhere a sparrow chirped and the tongue of the Catholic school bell tolled solemnly across the street. The door opened and closed and Joy Clay came up to him. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips smiled when she saw him.
"Hi, Gay," she said brightly. "Mother packed me a wonderful lunch today … want to join?"
He stood twisting his toe inside his shoe. It took all his courage to answer. "I'd love to, Joy, but I promised Glenn I'd have lunch with him. He should be along any minute."
"Glenn?" she asked, puzzled. "Oh, Glenn; I know … the new kid. Cute, isn't he?"
He held his head down a little. He did agree with her but should he say so? He was glad she didn't give him a chance to answer. She said, "I'm sorry you can't have lunch with, me, Gay. Maybe some other time."
"Thanks, Joy …"
"I'll see you … bye … come over some evening, Gay. You haven't been over to my house for such a long time."
"I'd love to."
Gaylord's eyes kept going up and down. He was uneasy and bashful without knowing why. Maybe it was the bright sunshine … maybe it was Joy … maybe it was his secret about Blake that made his ears burn … surely Blake hadn't told her. Still, she was his girl, and boys do tell funny things to their girls. She was sweet, sort of ​different today. She hadn't been like this in a long time and he wondered why the difference.
He forgot about Joy and wondered what was keeping Rogers. If he didn't come pretty soon he'd …
"Boo!"
He stood, scared, feeling large hands on his ribs, and turning with a toss of his head was ready to defend himself.
It was Robert Blake.
"Oh," Gaylord sighed deeply. "Hello, Bob … you scared me for a minute." He was glad Joy had left.
"I'm sorry," Blake answered dramatically. "And just because of that, how about some lunch?" Gaylord frowned, and Blake added, "Not only because I scared you, Gay, but …" he spoke more softly, "I want to very much."
He couldn't stand it. Outside, he couldn't put it into words, but thoughts kept running around in his mind. How can I say no to him? After last night and what happened in the shower, how can I? Should I go on and leave Glenn? He should have been here by now. I wonder what's keeping him … I wonder how Bob feels about last night. He looks happy but he always looks like that … gosh, he's wonderful … I think I'll go … No … I'd better wait … maybe Bob would join us … should I ask him to?"
"I'd love to, Bob, but I told Glenn I'd have lunch with him."
"Glenn?" Blake questioned.
"Glenn Rogers. He's new here. Only been here a few days and he's in my home-room. He's awfully nice." Now why did I say that, he thought. He looked up at Blake. "Why don't you come with us? I'd like you to meet him."
"I want to have lunch with you. What the hell do I want to meet him for?" Blake grinned.
"That doesn't sound like you, Bob. You'd like him. You like everybody and everybody likes you."
"What are you trying to do, pull my leg? I just want you to like me, and you said you did last night." Blake ruffled his eyebrows. "Remember, last night you said I was your best friend?"
"You are, Bob, you know that," he flushed. "I'd love to but …"
Blake interrupted. "… but you've promised him."
​He saw the broad, square face all bronze-like, saw the shaven cheeks still showing traces of beard. He looked at the strands of hair across the forehead, falling carelessly over it. He wanted to say he would go but he couldn't.
"You understand, don't you, Bob? Come with us … please?"
Blake looked down at him with a grinning, suspicious look. He wanted to play a little more but on noticing Gaylord's quivering lips, said warmly, "Don't you know I'm only kidding? Don't take things so seriously, Gay. I wouldn't break your date for anything. I sure wouldn't like you to break one with me, and if I had more time, I'd be glad to come with you. I'm supposed to see Joy … have you seen her?"
"She was here just a minute ago. I don't know where she went."
"I'll find her … by the way … how ya feel?"
"Fine."
"Me too … I had fun last night … I'll see you soon, huh Gay?"
"Any time."
"Bye … and keep your nose clean." He turned to go but stopped and looked back, grinning. "And I hope you have a lousy meal."
Blake lunged down the sidewalk and propelled himself across the campus. His body swayed in perfect unison with his legs and muscular arms. Gaylord stood there with an air of glittering triumph. He noticed the back of the head. It was the most beautiful head he had ever seen. As the light overhead caught the oiled hair, an unexpected flash leaped obliquely from it, sending out a tremor of sensual pleasure to Gaylord.
That's my friend, Gaylord mused … I'm going to do everything in my power to keep him so. His eyes narrowed against the bright noon-hour sun but in his heart was almost a natural air of arrogance, and he found this drab world of land and gulfs delightful.
Rogers came up out-of-breath and panting. "Phew!" he sighed, wiping his forehead. "At last … bet you thought I wasn't coming. I've been waiting at the middle door." He sighed again. "I've been to ​all three of them. I would pick this one last. Whew! I'm out of breath. Have you been waiting long?"
"No," Gaylord grinned. "I just got here. I should have made myself clearer. No wonder you didn't know which door I meant with all of them around here." He was glad he had waited. "My car's over there."
It was a lie, but he knew that in this small matter it was better than the truth. Morally his conscience did not rebel at this white falsehood, since it was really his fault. In any event, he would not tell Glenn Rogers he had almost given up and gone on without him. It was all his fault; but he felt no personal guilt at all. The delay was a lucky stroke. He had seen Blake and Joy and Blake was put in still a better light. He was happy as they walked toward his car.
When they came up to his car, Rogers said, "Boy, is this your car?"
"Uh-huh. Like it?"
Rogers squinted his eyes. "Like it? It's keen … what kind is it? Buick, isn't it?"
Gaylord nodded and both grinned at each other. They got in and sat on the leather seat.
"Dad has a Chevy. It's old now but still runs good. Boy, this is really a keen car … does the top go down by itself?"
"Sure does." Gaylord explained about the cloth top and how it worked. Then he pressed on the starter. He said, "Dad gave it to me on my birthday."
"When was your birthday?"
"March twentieth."
"That's funny," giggled Rogers, "mine's the twentieth of June. How old are you, Gay?"
"Eighteen … that is, I'll be eighteen …" He grinned. "How old are you?"
"The same. But I didn't get a car … come to think of it, I don't think my Dad gave me a darn thing." He laughed and wiped the dust from the chrome dashboard with his hand. "Your dad must be swell."
"He is."
"What does he do? Own a bank?"
​"He's in the oil business … leases and royalties, drilling oil wells … something like that." He shrugged his shoulders. "He's sure made money, but he's worked awfully hard too. Wants me to get interested in it but I don't like it a bit. So darn boring."
"Making money to buy cars like this doesn't sound boring to me."
To be an oil man: He'd rather enter a dark room and die than submit to that. He understood his reasons well enough. He had much to hide from the type of men his father worked with, for one thing. Second, his superiority complex was something that was terrifying. Third, the strange feeling he always got seeing the men changing their clothes at quitting time. Fourth, their language was completely distant. To be left alone, Gaylord knew that was the only way out for him. Around strangers with words and names for everything, anything might happen. And perversely enough, Rogers was now saying, "I guess you've got to be hard-boiled and rough to get anywhere in the oil business. I don't think I could do it."
"I know I couldn't."
"I bet you could …"
"I couldn't and it's no use kidding myself …"
They were on a wide paved street, and the harsh glitter of sunlight reflected from the car hood and danced over the chrome trimmings. Gaylord felt good behind the wheel and Rogers was enjoying the different gadgets, asking the purpose of each one. Gaylord complained about a rattle behind the dash and Rogers tried to find it.
"Can't, Gay," he said, his head beneath the dash. "I can't locate it … It's not too bad, is it?"
"No … leave it alone. You'll get dirty under there."
"In this pretty car?"
Gaylord laughed as Rogers returned to his seat. "Do you like hamburgers, Glenn?"
"Sure do. And I'm sure hungry." He rubbed his flat stomach.
"We'll go over to the Roxy. They make good ones there. Is that all right with you?"
Rogers didn't know where or what the Roxy was but he never asked. He said that would be fine. They turned down another street, one he had never been on before, and he saw it. It was a small but ​attractive drive-in. They parked alongside another car. In it four boys were busy devouring large dishes of ice cream covered with different kinds of fruits and nuts.
"Hello, Gaylord," one of the boys cried in a long drawn-out voice.
Stud! Gaylord knew the voice and turned pale. "Hi," he answered.
God, don't let them say anything, he prayed. Please don't let them say anything. He slipped deeper in the seat, and in his eyes was fear.
Rogers noticed the look and asked, "What's wrong, Gay? You all right?"
"I just got an awful pain in my head," he answered, rubbing his eyes. "This sun is right in my eyes. Maybe we can get out of this glare if I pull up to the other side."
Gaylord couldn't meet the eyes. He started the car without delay. He must get away from this boy who had called out to him. This boy who had tried to drag him into God knows what … he could almost feel his naked body against his again … and hear the names … he didn't want Rogers to hear those names … names he was certain the hateful-looking lips would soon utter.
He didn't care if Rogers did think he'd just gone haywire for a minute. At least he'd be away … away from those stained ugly lips.
A pretty girl with straight hair and business-like eyes came up to the car after he had stopped. "Hello, Gay," she said in a friendly way.
"Hello, Marie … how are you?"
"Fine …"
"Whataya want, Glenn?"
"I'll have a hamburger and a root beer."
"I'm sorry, Glenn … Marie this is Glenn Rogers."
"Hello, Glenn," she said, smiling.
"Nice to meet you," blushed Rogers.
"I just want a coke, Marie."
"Is that all you want? I thought you were hungry … you'd better eat a hamburger too."
"I just want a coke."
"You do feel bad, don't you? Want to go?"
​"I'll be all right. I'm just not hungry." He could have told, but why should he. After all, it was sort of embarrassing. He tried to smile, and said, "Do you want onions on your hamburger?"
"Please, I like onions. Gay, are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine."
He watched Rogers eat and drink. He was sure going after that hamburger. When he asked, "Want another one?" Rogers said, "Yes." He sat watching the face as though his life depended upon every flicker of expression, every movement of the head as Rogers looked from the hamburger up into his eyes. Rogers was enjoying his food and talked between mouthfuls. He spoke endlessly of various things. Gaylord sat listening and agreeing. The grin on the sunburned face was becoming.
Rogers felt the intent look and said, "I'll be glad when the rest of my forehead gets brown. This white mark is from wearing a hat all day."
"Why … I've never even noticed it."
"You haven't? I'm not going to wear a hat any more … you don't wear one, do you?"
"I don't even own one."
"I had to wear one on the farm. Boy, that sun really beats down."
Why couldn't everyone be like Glenn, Gaylord asked himself. Silently, he admired the good-looking boy with a drop of mustard on his lip. He looked so young and healthy. He caught himself looking down the legs and up again past the thighs, and blushed. He noticed the developed chest; how it made the buttonholes of the shirt stand open. He looked at the legs again, noticed the drawn trousers around the groin and wondered how the whole combination of all he saw looked naked. He had completely forgotten the pack of wolves in the car he had moved away from: Stud, whom he did not like; the brutish Jack with his skinny fingers ready to plunge into his troubled brain and bring forth an eyeball; the others, a bunch of rotten twigs on a bad limb of the family tree. He had forgotten them all and was now deeply engrossed in Glenn Rogers.
He wondered what Rogers would have done in the shower. Would he have kissed him? Would he have taken up for him the way Blake had done? This he couldn't answer for sure but he was almost ​sure that Rogers would have acted the same as Blake. Perhaps he wouldn't have kissed him but he was certain that he would have helped him escape.
Gaylord was playing a new role. He was trying to learn Rogers's world. He knew Rogers could never succeed Blake. Yet beneath his gentle ways, Rogers was appealing, almost exciting. He would have loved to have Rogers hold him in his arms at that moment, to feel his lips and body against his … Yes, he was afraid Rogers could make himself an obsession, one that would take a long time to break. He was also afraid that he would not want to break it after it was once started. He was relieved when Rogers broke in on his thoughts.
"Gosh … I'm stuffed. Why did you let me order that second one?"
Without looking away, Gaylord said, frowning a little, "You wanted it." Instinctively Gaylord's hand went to the freshly pressed trousers. "Now you know two hamburgers didn't fill you up."
To Gaylord's amazement, Rogers's hand went down and covered his. "I guess you're right," he grinned.
Gaylord grinned back but said nothing. He only thought, I'd still like to see you naked, you full little devil.
The school campus was deserted and there was no sound on it but that of their own hurrying feet. They walked rapidly down the hall and it was as ominously empty as the sidewalk they had left.
"I hope we're not late, Gay."
"I don't think we are."
"It was worth it though," said Rogers. "Thanks for asking me." His right hand dug nervously in his pocket.
"Lose something?"
"I can't find my locker key," Rogers said nervously, his hand still digging. Then he sighed. "Oh, I've got it."
"Good," said Gaylord. He was appalled at himself for feeling so free. All the blind stirrings, wantings, hungering for friends, awakened and seemed to embody themselves in this boy.
"Say, Glenn," he went on, "meet me at the car after school and I'll take you home."
​"Sure it's not out of your way?"
"Oh, now … after all …"
"I didn't want to put you out of your way but, I'll be there if you mean it."
"I don't say anything I don't mean."
"I'll be there then. See you after school … and thanks again, Gay … I sure enjoyed it."
"So did I, Glenn … see you after school … bye …"
"Bye."
They lengthened their strides down the corridor …