# Maybe—Tomorrow/Chapter 19

​CHAPTER 19
THE CARELESS SLAM OF A DOWNSTAIRS door echoed dully in Gaylord's ear. He sat up abruptly and rubbed his eyes. What a shame, he thought with unreasonable despair. I wonder what would have happened next? Darn, Dad … wish he wouldn't get up so early … and when he does … wish he'd be a little quiet.
He had been dreaming the most wonderful dream … He looked at his watch, five minutes of seven, and sank back on the wrinkled pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to recapture the dream, but instead, Paul Boudreaux repeated words and sentences.
"There are thousands like you, Gay … You're not the only one, my dear, so don't let it upset you too much. This has been going on since the beginning of time and will probably continue for a long time to come … man loving man and woman, woman.
"No, dear, you're not a freak of nature … Far from that. You're a sweet flustered little boy, afraid to do the things that seem natural to you. But aren't we all just a little afraid? I know it's hard to feel free around a bunch of naked boys … God knows I felt the same way for years. I've gone through the same heartaches … we all do …
"Promise me one thing … One thing out of all I've said, remember this; whoever or whatever you love is beautiful, for love is beautiful. It depends on you, your words and actions, if it becomes ugly.
"Here in New Orleans you grow smart young. You're not a virgin very long here, and that goes for me too. I was brought out while very young. Would you believe it, I've never had sex with a ​woman. I tried once and ran home, left her laying naked in bed. I just couldn't do it … So you see … if having sex with a woman makes a man out of you … you're more of a man than I will ever be.
"Try, Gay, to take things as they come. It's really the best way. If you want to have sex with a girl, have it. If it's Bob you want … well … all kids play with each other at least once in their life, so don't feel that you and Bob are the only ones. You haven't done anything that isn't being done right now in lots of places. You might find the right girl someday … I don't know … you may fall in love with a man … and it's a hard life if you do … it's not easy, Gay … not easy at all.
"Were you shocked at me? Do you think I'm terrible …? Could you do what I did …? You don't think so … well … I hope you don't.
"You're sort of bi-sexual now; that is you don't know what you want, but I'm afraid from what you've told me about Bob, that you're not going to be that way for long. Do what seems natural for you. It's too bad that mothers make the mistake in raising boys like you and thousands of others do the same thing … Some times I believe if I would have been raised more like a boy instead of like a girl I might have been different … Who knows.
"If you find you want to change … that you want to get married … talk to your family doctor … There are some good ones. The one I went to was very understanding … He told me frankly it all depended on myself and that he was afraid even myself couldn't change my ways … Then I went to another … He gave me those shots … all they did for me was make me hotter than ever and not for a woman either. Still, they may work on others … I doubt it. He sure was a quack … and there are lots of them … The last time I went to him, he tried to make me … I asked him if he had taken the shots … He said … ‘Hell no … I'm satisfied the way I am …' I never went back to him.
"You heard Gene mention Arnold? We lived together for over a year; happy too. I thought a lot of him. I don't think a married couple could have been any happier. Then, he started drinking more than he could hold and I couldn't take it. He started running ​around … One day I came home and found a note; he had left with another boy … said he was in love this time for sure … Funny, huh? It wasn't funny for me. I was absolutely lost … miserable … Three weeks later he came back and wanted to start all over again, but the love I had for him was gone. I couldn't see him, and still, deep in my heart I wanted him so bad …
"I've just gotten over that. I still think of him but, when I found out he was using dope, I was through. I've done things I'm not too proud of … but some things I'll never do. I'll forget him, for he made our love ugly, repulsive. There's bound to be someone else I keep telling myself. Someone who will give me a clean companionship … Sure, I could love you, Gay … Who couldn't love you. You're the sweetest boy I've ever met. And ‘you all's' from Texas. Maybe I'd better go to Texas for a while, huh?
"You'll write to me, won't you? I want you to … Don't let this be a one night affair. It isn't to me … I want to be your friend, Gay. If you have troubles and would like to tell them to me, I'll do my best to help you … Write them to me …
"And be careful who you go out with. I should give you this advice, shouldn't I? But see … I could have been nasty. I could have been a plain-clothesman. I could have hurt you … You could have hurt me too. We both took a chance … Don't take too many chances … Be careful who you go out with … who you give your love to … for … whoever or whatever you love, love is beautiful … Remember that."
Between the white sheets, Gaylord propped his legs. With his eyes still closed, he repeated the words just heard: "Whoever or whatever you love is beautiful …"
Bob. The name lingered after he opened his eyes … Bob, he thought, and his flesh tingled. I'm going to see Bob today. I can be with Bob.
An hour later, a tired but happy Gaylord walked lazily into his school room. He sat at his desk, watching Joy walk up the aisle, her hips softly moving. It was the first time he had seen her since that afternoon.
"Hello, Gay," she said simply.
​"Hello, Joy," he blushed, remembering that afternoon.
She walked past and sat at her desk … He wanted to say something nice to her but his throat felt tongue-tied.
Glenn Rogers appeared and broke the tenseness …
"Hi, Gay … Have a nice trip?"
"Sure did, Glenn."
"When did ya get back?"
"Last night."
Miss Grey tapped her pencil on the desk. "Glenn," she said, "you and Gaylord refrain from talking while in this room."
"Yes, ma'am," sputtered Glenn.
Gaylord was silent but some girl behind giggled. He was glad it wasn't Joy …
A sound of high heels tapped past the door only to be broken by the sudden clanging of the school bell. There was a mad scramble of books and legs. Gaylord looked at Joy as she passed, but she only smiled.
She's mad, he thought … and I don't blame her …
Glenn Rogers came up to him, his face beamed with joy and excitement.
"How was the trip? You got to tell me all about it."
Joy was forgotten as New Orleans came back into his mind … Gene Limbeaux's apartment … the large divan … the smoke filled air … the pasty faces … Claude's naked body … Paul's …
"Wonderful, Glenn … I had a wonderful time … I wish you could have been along."
"I wish I could have too."
They strolled down the corridor. Gaylord was saying … "I don't know where to begin."
"What did you do?"
Gaylord thought a moment. "Well, for one thing I went to a party … and what a party … It was mad." He wasn't sure if he had used the word correctly but he had heard someone at Gene's use the expression.
"Mad? Who was mad?"
"Everybody."
"Sounds goofy to me."
​Gaylord laughed. "It was that too. Crazy … that's the only word I can think of … mad … I almost got drunk."
"You did?"
"Uh … huh."
"Did you meet any cute gals at the party."
Dusty, Gaylord thought, and said … "I met one. She was something you'd never meet here."
"Pretty?"
"Gosh yes …" Gaylord squared his shoulders … "I say she was pretty … she was a lulu … sweet too."
"Uh … did you go out with her?" Rogers grinned and tossed the damp hair from his forehead.
Gaylord laughed in a series of chuckles. "Oh … Glenn."
"Tell me, Gay."
"Glenn Rogers … stop cracking your knuckles … I'll tell you … She was ok … fun …"
"What else happened …? Did you go to the Cathedral?"
"Yeah … Sunday. Gosh, it's beautiful," Gaylord sighed. "Then we went on down Royal Street, looked in all the shops; went to the cemeteries; down to the Mississippi and looked at the boats … Oh, we just went everywhere." He stopped, noticing a glistening head of hair coming toward them. The face was blurred with another in front of it. It's Bob, he thought and his blood beat rapidly … Here comes Bob.
He had called Blake this morning around seven-thirty, but his mother had informed him that he had left. Going down the hall he had been watching for him … He saw the face and his spirits dropped …
"Hi, Gay," the glistening haired boy smiled.
"Hi, Ramon," he smiled, but his heart wasn't in it.
"Well, here's where I stop," Rogers said with disgust. "Durn Geometry; and I don't know that problem this morning either." Putting a hand on Gaylord's shoulder, he added a couple of slaps and said softly, "Missed you yesterday, Gay."
"Thanks for saying so."
"I mean it."
"I missed you too."
​"See you at lunch?" Glenn asked.
"Yeah, I'll see you. Bye."
He continued down the hall alone.
"Hi, sissy," a dissipated dirty face cried.
Gaylord turned red. His mouth tightened. Then his lips twisted in a sneering smile. "You dumb ugly faced baboon." He didn't care if he had been heard. He lengthened his steps.
"Well, I'll be God damned," thought the boy, scratching his head. He watched Gaylord's graceful stride … Uttered again, "Well I'll be damned."
Class in the gymnasium was hard and tiring. It smelled of sweat and dirty feet. He tried not to breathe the vile air as he sprang up and down, up and down. His body ached. He must breathe. His hands flew over his head … together … apart … wide apart … together … one … two … three, four … and over again.
"At ease," yelled the gym teacher.
Gaylord stood there panting, sweat covering his forehead.
The teacher went right on yelling. "Keep them wide apart, fellows … hey; you on the end … stretch those things you call arms a little more. Touch those ceiling beams … at least try to. And what's the matter with you? Got a corn cob up your ass or something: spread out those legs farther." They stood there with their hands on their hips, taking the nasty words. They were mostly boys, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and nineteen years old.
Gaylord stood looking at his classmates. His face wet … darn, he knew his hair was a mess. He looked at the boy next to him. He had a flat nose and pimples, big pimples with yellow centers. He turned away quickly and rubbed his nose.
"Okay," cried the instructor. "Let's do this like men and not like a bunch of love sick girls … come on now … one, two, three … four."
Muscles, thought Gaylord. I've got to have big muscles. I've got to be strong. I've got to be able to protect myself. I've got to be strong … strong … I've got to be like Bob … Bob …
Arms went out everywhere, reaching, filling the musty air. ​Gaylord's, with Blake's name on his lips, reached even higher; stretched greedily for the beams so high above him.
"Good, Le Claire … that's good … keep it up …" cried the instructor …
After a shower, Gaylord walked back to his locker. He walked over the wet floor at a normal pace.
"Hi, Jack," he said, slapping a naked buttock belonging to a boy bending over a stool tying his shoe.
"Hi … oh, hello, Gay." A surprised look spread over his face; it was the first time Gaylord Le Claire had ever done anything like that.
Gaylord walked on. He looked to the door that led outside the gym, then back again at the laughing, talking, wrestling boys. He reached his locker, opened it and took out his underwear. He paused, thought; should I take off this towel right now like the rest of them do? Should I stand here naked the way they do?
He decided he would and took the towel from around his waist. He laid his underwear on the bench; sat there naked and dried his feet. He turned his lowered head and squinted around the room at the others.
"Has that red-headed bastard gone?" someone asked.
"Yeah," another voice answered.
"Thank God … damn, I'm dying for a cigarette … give me one."
Gaylord watched him puff and inhale the smoke. A fat naked kid of fifteen passed him.
"Hi, Gay."
Gaylord returned the same greeting and slipped his dried feet into his socks.
He felt strong hands on his shoulders and then a slight whack.
"How's my buddy?"
Gaylord knew instantly whom the voice belonged to. He dropped the shoe from his hand and reached for the towel which he placed over his naked lap … Said … "Oh, Bob … hi … I'm fine."
"How's New Orleans?"
"Wonderful … simply wonderful … How've you been, Bob?"
Blake smiled. "Okay," then he whispered, "missed you though." ​He put his foot on the bench. "There's no place like it." He grinned and shook his head. "No, Sir, no place. I learned a helluva lot in New Orleans. Yeah. It's some town. Did you have fun?" He lit a cigarette. "Wish I could have gone with you."
"I wish you could have too," he answered, an enigmatic look in his eyes. What had Blake done in New Orleans? Had he gone to a party too? The same kind he had attended? What people had he met? The same kind he had? "Did you happen to meet Paul Boudreaux when you were there, Bob?"
"Paul Boudreaux? Nooo; I don't think so." He scratched his head. "I don't know too many people there … didn't meet too many either. Does he play football?"
"No."
"What does he look like?"
"Like you."
"Like me?" Blake put a finger on his fresh laundered shirt.
"He reminded me of you," Gaylord said, slipping his legs through his underwear. Fastening them, he got up and drew his trousers from the locker and put them on. "Bob," he said, "may I have a cigarette?"
Blake unconsciously handed him the lighted cigarette he was smoking. Said, "He reminded you of me?" His eyes danced between the dark eyelashes. "Huh;" he paused. "He did … did he, hey what did you and this guy do … huh?"
Gaylord did not answer. He puffed the cigarette and coughed. Suddenly, he was busy dressing.
"Come on, confess," Blake grinned. "What did ya do?"
"They're watching us," Gaylord answered softly.
"Aw to hell with them … what did ya do?"
"What do you think we did?"
"That's what I'm asking."
They grinned at each other and then Gaylord asked, "What did you do over the week-end?"
"Oh, you want to change the subject, huh?"
"I think we'd better, don't you?"
"I don't see why. I just asked a simple question."
"A simple question?"
"Yeah … a simple question."
​"It's not simple to me, Bob."
"It isn't."
"No, it isn't."
Blake took his foot off the bench and lit another cigarette. Said, "What do you mean? Nothing wrong, is there, Gay?" His wide grin tightened, then relaxed, and smoke came from between his lips. He put his other foot on the bench.
"No …" said Gaylord. "There's nothing wrong. I just found out about …"
"About what?"
"About myself."
Blake's eyes were tender and his voice soft. "About yourself?"
"Yes." Gaylord looked at him, his eyes amorous and moistened.
"What else did you do?" shot back Blake with a quick smile.
"I think I know … why …"
"Shu … here come some fellows," he whispered. "Yeah," he said real loud, "that New Orleans is some hot town. Who knows, Gay, you might have screwed the same whore I did." He laughed and slapped Gaylord's shoulder.
"Hi, Bob … Gay," one of the boys said.
"Hi," they both answered together.
The boys looked back with a curious look. "Gaylord Le Claire screwing a whore? Ha; that was a laugh. Bob must be nuts. Why did he want to hang around that sissy for: still, Bob was like that; nice to everybody."
Gaylord had finished dressing. "I've got to go, Bob."
"Yeah, so do I … How about lunch? No … I can't … I've got to pick up Mother. How about tonight …? Can I come by?"
"You know you can."
"About seven-thirty?"
"Anytime. I'll be home," breathed Gaylord and he wished he could have added, "waiting for you."
"See you tonight then."
"Tonight …"
He left it suspended. He would know that the word meant an eternity. Blake patted his arm.
​"Probably at seven. I'll be there right after supper … Bye, Gay." He turned and left.
Gaylord's very soul seemed to follow the swaying strides. All life, all time, had gone from him and mixed themselves among the glistening hair. He had become lifeless, and the arms that closed his locker door were bloodless pieces of flesh, and the legs that now moved were its continuation of floating veins.
Tuesday afternoon, a soft rain began to fall. It was still raining when Gaylord pulled his car up to the wet curb in front of Rogers' home.
"Thanks for the lift, Gay." Rogers smiled. "Won't you come in for a while?"
"No, I guess I'd better get home … and you're more than welcome."
"Wish it wasn't so nasty," cried Rogers.
Looking at the clean-cut face, Gaylord asked, "Why, Glenn?"
"Rain makes me lonesome." Rogers squirmed in his seat. "I hate to sit in the house." Then, with a wide grin, "Say, how about a show: can I take you to the show after supper?"
"I can't tonight … I've … Some other night, huh?"
Rogers dropped his head and Gaylord knew he was disappointed. "Yeah," he said and tried to force a smile, "some other time."
They were silent and awkward sitting so close to each other. Gaylord apologized. "I wish I could go tonight."
"That's o.k." The dimples deepened. "Thanks for the lift." He slapped Gaylord's leg and opened the car door.
"I'll come by for you in the morning. Same time."
Rogers nodded. The rain splattered across his face. He waved and ran for the house; Gaylord drove away.
Here was his house now. He turned the car into the water-soaked driveway. The shrubbery looked fresh and strong and the house looked retired behind it as though withdrawing from the busy street. He left his car under the car-port and went inside. The house was cool and empty.
He went to his room. On his dresser was a large sheet of white paper, his mother's handwriting on it; under the paper was a grey ​envelope. It had a special delivery stamp on it, and was postmarked "New Orleans."
"Paul," he cried breathlessly.
He read his mother's note hurriedly; "Gay, dear; I'm at the beauty shop if you want me. Love, Mother."
Then, he tore open the grey envelope.