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What Happened to Larry Alan

J

UD

crossed the street and peered around the bus kiosk. Ah,

all clear. Relieved, he entered the park and rushed across the
grassy field, heading directly to his favorite bench beneath a
sugar maple. It wasn‟t very cold today, just comfortably
crisp, not much of a breeze.

“Heads up, man!”
Jud ducked just as a soccer ball sailed past his head,

nearly hitting him.

“Whoa! Good reflexes,” the player shouted.
Jud nodded and smiled weakly, but he kept moving, his

focus on getting to his bench. The scrimmage resumed once
he‟d cleared the field. Reaching his favorite spot, Jud sat
down, put his book and sandwich on the worn seat beside
him, and took a few moments to settle into his surroundings.
There were just two men—late teens, early twenties—
knocking the soccer ball back and forth between them. To
their left, on the other side of the field and on another bench,
sat a young mother, fidgeting with tucking a blanket around
a baby in a stroller while trying to keep an eye on an older
boy as he ran around, using his finger to shoot any person
or squirrel or bird he spotted.

Another woman approached the first. She had a young

girl at her side, clinging to her hand and apparently trying to
become part of her mother‟s leg. Jud smiled, noticing the
little girl‟s hair was the color of the leaves shading him, that
warm red-gold that a sugar maple gets in autumn. When the
sun hits it just right, it appears to be aflame. The girl peered
around her mother at the new woman and occasionally

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glanced nervously at the loud, rowdy boy when he ventured
too close.

“Bang! You‟re dead!” the boy shouted at her, causing her

to flinch.

“James, stop that,” his mother scolded. “That‟s no way

to make new friends.”

“Bang! You‟re dead!” James said, pointing his finger at

his mother before running off. Jud saw the girl release her
mother‟s hand and step away, turning to watch the boy at
play.

He sighed as he removed his reading glasses from his

jacket pocket and picked up his book. He had an hour for
lunch, but rarely took that long. He just wanted some quiet
time in a lovely setting, just him, his book, and his turkey
sub. He would simply read until he was done eating. That
was usually enough time to wash the noise and stress of the
newsroom out of his head.

I

T DIDN

‟

T

take long for Jud to lose himself in the vibrant

world of Louis de Bernières‟s The War of Don Emmanuel‟s
Nether Parts. He‟d eaten half his sandwich and the sounds of
the park had faded: the soccer scrimmage, the mothers
chatting, the breeze rustling the leaves above his head, the
baby getting fussy and needing attention.

Then, punching through his quiet, came, “You have to

fall!”

“No!” the little girl screeched, bringing Jud‟s head up

sharply. The children had somehow worked their way closer
to him. He glared at the chatting mothers across the field,

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oblivious within their conversation. He mentally shouted at
them to come and corral their ankle-biters, but neither took
notice.

An uncommonly strong and chilly breeze rushed at him,

disturbing his thick, floppy black hair and chilling his bones
despite his heavy jacket.

“I wonder who will win,” a deep, melodious voice said,

directly to Jud‟s right.

“Huh?” Jud‟s head snapped toward the voice as if he‟d

been zapped with electricity. Sitting on the other side of what
remained of his sandwich was a handsome older gentleman
with lustrous graying hair that seemed to glow in contrast to
his dark skin. His face was heavily wrinkled, but he had
kind, if intense, brown eyes and an easy smile. He wore
jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt, and a charcoal hoodie.

“Pardon me?” Jud asked, blinking away the tears the

wind had caused.

The gentleman grinned and pointed a bony but steady

finger at the children. “Who do you think will win?” he asked
as he watched the boy shove the girl in an effort to get her to
fall down dead after he‟d “shot” her.

Jud turned to look at the children.
“Bang! You‟re dead!” James shouted again, and then he

shoved the little girl for all he was worth, and down she
went.

“I have no idea.” As far as he was concerned, children

were hateful little beasts.

“Oh, that‟s pretty harsh.”
“Huh?”
“Hateful little beasts?”

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Before Jud could reason out how the man had known

how he felt, the little girl had picked herself up off the
ground, brushed off the dust and leaves from her pants, and
smacked the young gunslinger upside his head, sending him
wailing back across the field to his mother.

Jud and the gentleman smiled at her, impressed. She

stared back at them fiercely. “Bullies suck,” she stated.

“Yes, my dear, they do,” the stranger said. “Well done.”

She smiled at him and turned to stride determinedly back
over to her mother.

The man and Jud sat quietly for a few moments,

contemplating the little victory they‟d witnessed. As he
watched the girl reach her mother and receive an embrace
rather than a scolding, Jud smiled. The other mom had
calmed her son and, apparently deciding he‟d learned a
lesson, she bundled him up along with his infant sibling and
bid her fellow mother adieu. Jud‟s book lay open and ignored
in his lap, his half-eaten sandwich growing stale at his side.

Another breeze stirred the leaves above his head,

shaking some loose. As they drifted down in front of his face,
Jud was momentarily shaken from his thoughts, and he
suddenly remembered the man sitting next to him on the
bench, his bench, and turned to look at him.

“Where did you go just then?” the stranger asked softly.
“Huh?”
“You say that a lot, don‟t you, Judson?”
Jud felt his face flush, and he turned away. “Oh,

well….” Another breeze struck him in the face. “Hey, how do
you know my name?” he asked, turning back to look at the
stranger, but the bench was empty, save for him. He blinked
rapidly and snatched off his glasses, as if that would make

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the man reappear, then turned in his seat to search the area
behind him and the park far to his right.

He spotted the two soccer buddies, but there was no

sign of the stranger.

Jud felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to prickle

and hurriedly gathered up the rest of his sandwich as he
shoved his glasses back into his pocket. The whole time his
eyes scanned the park around him and even once searched
the sugar maple above his head. He started off back the way
he‟d come, smiling to himself.

As if he‟d shinnied up the tree while I wasn‟t looking, he

thought, shaking his head.

It wasn‟t until he was back in front of his computer in

the newsroom that he remembered what had crossed his
mind after watching that nascent bully get his comeuppance.
He‟d been thinking about his own school days, about the
bullies he‟d known, about the ones he‟d watched torment
others, thankful that they were not focusing on him. Jud
suddenly and painfully bit his lower lip, and the name Larry
Alan tiptoed across his mind.

Little Larry Alan was the target of the preeminent bullies

in his school for four years. It started the week after the
drama club‟s first performance. The kid was small, thin,
bookish, and highly uncoordinated everywhere, except
onstage. There, he was magnificent, with a voice as clear and
true as a bell, nimble footwork, and a personality that
reached clear to the back of the auditorium. Jud
remembered how he‟d felt watching that first show, how
impressed he was by Larry‟s presence and talent. And by his
guts—guts to be exactly who he was.

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Whatever happened to little Larry? Jud couldn‟t

remember. He did recall how envious he‟d been of Larry‟s
ability to be the center of attention. Jud had been on the
basketball team, but he rode the bench most games, and he
was grateful for it. He could be an athlete without much
responsibility, and he wore that jock-cloak throughout high
school, glad that no one wanted to look beyond it.

They wouldn‟t have liked what they found.

“H

EART

, planning powwow in ten.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jud mumbled absently, never taking his

eyes off his computer screen. He ignored his friend
Cunningham as he lingered by his desk.

“So… how was the weekend?”
“Not now, Ham.”
“Aw, man, come on… tell me. Who else you gonna talk

to?”

Jud finally looked up into his friend‟s eyes. He

sometimes wished he had straight girlfriends, like every
other gay man he knew. There was something off about
sharing the details of his love life, or lack thereof, with a
straight male buddy. There were always details Ham didn‟t
want to hear.

“What happened with you and Linc?” Ham pressed.
“He‟s interested in someone else—”
“Sonofabitch!”

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Jud laughed at his friend‟s supportive outrage. He was

very good at that. “It‟s fine, man. We weren‟t right for each
other.”

“You seemed to think he was Mr. Right last week.”
“I was blinded by his beauty. What can I say?”
“Ain‟t that always the way?” Ham sighed. “Even you

boys get that, huh?”

Jud grabbed a legal pad and pen and stood. “Yeah, even

we get that,” he said with a smile. “Let‟s get in there.”

“H

EART

?”

“Uh… yes?” Jud looked up from his pad and into the

eyes of his editor-in-chief, Mary Perry. She stood in front of
the window at the back of the conference room, one finger
pulling down a slat in the blinds to peer out. She had her
back to him and all the other members of her staff. Jud
could see she‟d just had her hair cut. The short, military-
straight cut hovered above a thin line of paler skin that her
copper-red and graying mop had covered before lunch. It was
a mop no more.

He briefly wondered why she kept her hair and her

appearance so severe and neat—no nail polish, no heels, no
nonsense—but refused to cover the gray. She seeks truth, he
thought absently, before sitting up straighter in his seat and
looking over the other numerous faces turned toward him.
He looked to Ham for information. All he got was a perplexed
glance and a shrug.

“Do you have something else you‟d rather be doing?”

Perry asked.

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“No….”
“Funny,” she said, “I‟d much rather be teeing off at

Garden Grove right now than having this meeting.” She
stepped away from the window and dropped back into the
large leather seat at the head of the long conference table.
“So, now that we have your attention again, which would you
like?” Jud blinked at her, and Perry sighed, rolling her eyes.
“You and Brenda are each taking one, so which feature?”
She glanced at a legal pad in front of her. “Native son gone
wrong or the teen suicides?”

“N-native son,” Jud said softly. “I‟ll take that one.”
“Good, that‟s settled. I can get the hell back to work.”

Perry shoved a printout at him. “Here‟s the contact info.”
Everyone rose to exit the room. “Have a good evening, people.
See you tomorrow.”

Perry exited the conference room through a sliding door

on her right that connected to her office. As his colleagues
filed out past him, Jud glanced down at his legal pad, hoping
to find some notes about what they‟d all discussed, but all
he found was the name Larry doodled creatively and
repeatedly all over the pad.

“Hey, who‟s Larry?” Ham asked, stopping by his seat.

“Already in recovery over Linc? Working your way through
the L‟s?”

Jud shook his head and rose. “Just a kid I went to high

school with. Larry Alan.”

“Oh? He‟s been in touch? Wants to hook up? Coming

into town for the reunion this week?”

Jud turned quickly on his friend. “Ham, I have no idea

where he is.” He abruptly stopped walking toward the door.

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“I haven‟t heard anything about him since then… not a
word.”

“Did you have a bit of a crush?” Ham asked.
“No!” His friend raised his hands in surrender and

backed up, and Jud relaxed a bit as he massaged his temple.
“S-sorry. It‟s just… you have a one-track mind sometimes,
man. Cool it.”

“Fair enough. Sorry, dude.”
Jud smiled tiredly, and they left the room to begin

shutting down their computers for the day.

“Drinks?” Ham asked, and Jud nodded.

S

ITTING

at the bar in Patrick‟s Grill, Jud nursed a bourbon

and ignored Ham as he discussed the physical attributes of
the waitress on duty. Shaking vague, unformed, yet
persistent thoughts of Larry Alan out of his head, he spun
on his seat to look out over the other people killing time
before heading home on a Wednesday night. One of the two
pool tables was free, so he tapped Ham on his shoulder and
silently asked if he‟d like a game.

His friend hopped to his feet. “You bet! I‟m gonna whoop

your ass!”

Jud chuckled as Ham walked unsteadily over to the

table and began examining cues. The bartender gave him
change for the table, and Jud joined his friend. He shoved
the coins in, and both he and Ham grinned at the satisfying,
deep rumble of the balls dropping and rolling toward the
front of the table. Jud collected them and carefully racked
them as Ham chalked his cue.

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After a rather weak and fruitless break by his friend,

Jud stepped in and busted apart the cluster of balls, sinking
a solid and a stripe. “Not sure which fell first, so I‟ll take
stripes,” he said.

“Whatever,” Ham said, draining his glass as he watched

Jud make short work of him in their first game.

“Rematch!” Ham shouted, and Jud quickly racked as he

laughed at his friend‟s enthusiasm. This time Ham did a
much better job on the break. So good, in fact, that a few
heads turned toward their table at the sound of the explosive
crack. Jud frowned as a couple of solids went in, but then
chilly air ruffled his hair and pulled his gaze from the game,
up and over to the door, where a man and woman stood
looking for their group. They spotted their friends and joined
them as Jud‟s eyes continued their journey over to the bar.

At the end of the bar farthest from them sat an elderly

gentleman, sipping a drink and watching their game. He had
shaggy, graying blond hair and bright blue eyes whose
twinkle Jud could see from across the room. Ham missed
and had to nudge Jud to let him know it was his shot. After
missing his attempt at the eleven ball, Jud glanced up at the
bar again and saw the stranger still watching them. The old
man smiled at him.

As Ham lined up his shot, Jud said, “Think I‟ll get a

pitcher.” He looked at Ham, who stared daggers at him for
speaking while he was trying to shoot. “Whadya say?”

“Whatever.” Ham leaned over and focused on his shot

again while Jud strolled over to the bar and waited until he
caught the bartender‟s eye.

“What‟ll you have?”
“Lemme get a pitcher of your house brew.”

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The bartender walked away to pull Jud‟s order.
“Good choice,” the older man said from his corner of the

bar.

“Huh?”
Blinking slowly, the man smiled warmly at him, and

Jud returned it.

“I mean, pardon me?”
“I said that beer is a good choice… their house brew.”
“Yep. It‟s our favorite.”
“You and your friend come here a lot, do ya?” the man

asked, nodding in Ham‟s direction. Jud glanced back over at
the pool table and saw Ham now flirting with the waitress.
He grinned and shook his head.

“We stop by after work now and then,” Jud said.
The stranger studied him for a moment, and when the

bartender delivered Jud‟s pitcher, the old man extended his
hand and said, “I‟m Topher, and you are…?”

“Oh, uh, I‟m Jud… Judson Heart.”
They shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, Jud.”
They fell silent for a few moments, staring into each

other‟s eyes. “D-do you play?” Jud asked.

“Oh no… no, I couldn‟t do that, but I would love to

watch you boys battle each other.”

“Great. Follow me.”
Topher slid from the stool and followed Jud back to the

table.

“Ham, this is Topher. Topher… Ham.”

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“Good to meet you,” Ham said, and Topher nodded,

taking a seat on a stool by the wall.

During the game, Jud kept stealing glances at their

elderly spectator. There was something slightly off about
him, but Jud couldn‟t put his finger on it. Jud could see he
was once a handsome man, his face now heavily wrinkled.
His clothes seemed too young for him. Instead of a suit or
maybe a cardigan, Topher wore a navy hoodie, jeans, and
tennis shoes… cross trainers, even.

“Have we met before?” Jud asked after sinking the three

ball.

Topher drained his drink. “Umm, it‟s possible.” He

stared into Jud‟s eyes for a moment, then smiled. “Can‟t
place me, huh?” Jud grinned and went to stand by him as
Ham took his turn. “That‟s okay. I have one of those faces.”
The old man‟s eyes slowly scanned the room. “Is it normally
this busy on a Wednesday?”

Jud repeated Topher‟s examination of the bar. “I guess

so, yeah.”

“Shame.”
“How so?”
“Oh, I don‟t know… I guess, when I look around the

room… there seems to be a lot of sadness.”

Jud looked over the bar again. He saw a couple of tables

full of people talking and laughing, one couple dancing in the
corner by the jukebox, a man chatting with the bartender,
making him laugh as he cleaned a glass. “I don‟t really see—”

“Look closely,” Topher whispered in Jud‟s ear, and Jud

looked more closely.

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He saw three people sitting alone at the bar,

strategically spaced to ensure no contact with each other. He
saw a woman rise unsteadily from a table of friends to
stagger to the ladies‟ room alone. He noticed that the couple
who had been dancing was not so much dancing anymore as
beginning to put on a lurid, desperate show by the jukebox
that Jud felt would be best performed in a bedroom
somewhere. He saw a man and woman in a booth, nursing
drinks and not speaking to each other, not even looking at
one another. Instead, their eyes roamed appreciatively over
the ample backside of a waitress as she passed them, and
then they looked back at each other with contempt. Jud
could almost hear the couple silently ask each other, “Why
aren‟t you her?”

“I… uh, I guess I see what you mean,” Jud said softly.
“Eight ball, side pocket,” Ham announced, but Jud

couldn‟t pull his eyes from Topher‟s to watch.

“Do you have any regrets, Jud, my boy?”
Jud laughed nervously, trying to brush off Topher‟s

question. “Uh… well, everyone has something they wish
they‟d done differently. You know.”

“Did you see that shot?” Ham asked, rushing up to

them, excited.

“Well done, my boy!” Topher said, slapping him on the

back. “Well done.” Neither he nor Jud had witnessed it, but
Ham was none the wiser. “I think I should take my leave,
gentlemen,” Topher said, rising. He shook Ham‟s hand and
then turned to Jud. Patting Jud‟s chest, just over his heart,
he said, “Try not to dwell too much on what you would have
or should have done. Just focus on doing it right the next
time. Yes?”

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Jud smiled crookedly and nodded. Topher zipped up his

hoodie and navigated unerringly through the revelers and
sad sacks populating the room to step out into the night. He
doesn‟t move like an old man, Topher thought as a blast of
cold air reached his face. He reached up to his chest where
Topher had touched him, and, feeling something in his
pocket, he pulled out the contact sheet Perry had given him
earlier and began to unfold it.

Ham finished racking the balls as Jud looked the sheet

over.

“You wanna break this time, man?”
“Holy shit!”
“Wh-what‟s up?”
Jud couldn‟t speak as he glanced from the paper in his

hand to Ham and back again. “This… this feature….”

“Yeah?”
“I‟m supposed to interview—”
“An inmate at Palter.” Ham waved his hand

dismissively. “Yeah, I know. Some guy born and raised in
town, star of the basketball team in high school, heading to
college on an athletic scholarship, but then—pow!—life
totally takes a dive.” Ham snapped his fingers in front of
Jud‟s face. “Just like that and it‟s all over.” He drained his
glass and then filled it again from their pitcher. “You want
another?”

Jud declined as he tried to wrap his mind around the

name on his contact sheet. Tucker Clinton… The Tucker
Clinton.

J

UD

found himself trembling as he waited for the clang of

the metal door to stop vibrating in his ears. His mouth had

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gone dry and he felt ill, but he took deep breaths to try and
get himself under control. The guard motioned for him to
step forward, through the metal detector, and once on the
other side, he waved a wand up and over Jud‟s body and
outstretched arms.

The guard nodded to another by a table and sent Jud

over to him. Jud retrieved his briefcase and other personal
items from that guard, quickly shoving his wallet back in his
pocket and slipping his watch back on his wrist.

“What‟s your business at Palter today?” the guard at the

table asked.

“I‟m speaking with Tucker Clinton. It was arranged

through my editor, the warden, and Judge Whistler,” Jud
answered as calmly as he could manage. He couldn‟t decide
whether his nervousness was due to his surroundings or the
thought of seeing Tucker again.

The guard checked a sheet on his clipboard and nodded.

Then, looking up at the guard who had searched Jud, said,
“Hey, Polley?”

“Yeah?”
“Who‟s bringing Clinton down?”
“Luke. He‟ll get him settled, then come out here and

take reporter boy”—he nodded at Jud—“back.”

“Good enough,” the guard said, and nodded toward a

low bench on his left. “Have a seat. Shouldn‟t be long.”

“Thank you,” Jud said, walking over and sitting down,

but before he could get settled into thinking about his
interview, he heard another door slamming open.

“Heart! Judson Heart?”

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“Uh… here.” Jud jumped to his feet, the briefcase

sliding to the floor. He quickly snatched it up again and
stood, facing this new, larger prison guard.

“This way.” The man turned, and Jud followed him

through a door on his right. “There is to be no physical
contact of any kind with the inmate,” his escort said without
turning around or breaking his stride. “Understood?”

“Y-yes.”
They walked for what felt like a long time, passing

through several more locked doors. Jud grew even more
uneasy as he walked deeper into the bowels of the prison,
but upon glancing around and catching sight of Jud‟s
expression, the guard smiled.

“Don‟t worry. We‟re actually walking around the outside

rim of the prison, not walking deeper in.”

“You read minds, huh?”
The man chuckled. “I‟ve been working here fifteen years.

I‟ve taken a whole hell of a lot of people back to talk to
inmates.”

“Any thoughts on Clinton?”
The guard was silent for a few moments, then he said,

“He stays out of trouble, so in my book he‟s one of the good
ones.”

They reached another door, and his escort knocked. A

small panel in the door slid open, revealing two tired, beady
eyes, then Jud heard a lock disengaging, and the door
swung open. While his escort greeted the guard standing
watch over his interview subject, Jud took note that the
room wasn‟t very large. Bright lights illuminated the center
of the room where, bolted to the floor, there was a

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nondescript old metal table with a chair on either side of it—
one empty and one occupied by Tucker Clinton.

At least, Jud thought it was Tucker. His head was

shaved, lacking the wavy sandy-blond hair Jud remembered
from high school. He remembered Tucker used to have to
use a headband to keep his hair out of his face during their
hotly contested basketball games. He was bulkier, his chest
broader, his arms massive and tattooed.

His face seemed harder, or was it his expression? His

green eyes had definitely lost the open warmth Jud
remembered. Tucker‟s appraising gaze looked Jud up and
down, but Jud didn‟t see a flicker of recognition, which made
the reporter relax a bit.

“I‟ll leave you now,” his escort said, tapping Jud on the

shoulder and making him jump. “Tony, here, will give me a
call when you‟re done.”

Jud smiled weakly and nodded as the man turned and

left. He glanced at Tony, who said nothing as he shut and
secured the door before walking over and taking a seat in a
chair against the wall. The guard crossed his arms over his
chest and stared at Jud for a moment before glancing to the
table and back, and then raising his eyebrows. Jud snapped
to and smiled, embarrassed, then he slowly walked over and
sat down across from the first boy he‟d ever kissed.

J

UD

kept his gaze lowered as he entered the newsroom and

made a beeline for his desk. He was shaking and really
didn‟t remember the drive back from the prison. With
everyone wrapping up after their second deadline of the day,
several people crossed his path, but no one called out to him

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or tried to catch him up in a conversation, and he sighed
with relief when he reached his seat without being accosted.

He shed his jacket and quickly dug into his briefcase for

his notes and mini-recorder, then turned on his computer.
As he waited for it to boot up, he rewound the interview tape
he‟d made, hunched down in his cubicle, and pressed
Play….

“I appreciate you talking with me today, Mr. Clinton.” The

uncertainty in Jud‟s voice was evident.

“It‟s not like I have anything better to do.”
Jud smiled, remembering Tucker‟s voice always had

been deep and resonant, but on this recording he could
detect an edge of fatigue in it. “Do you mind if I call you
Tucker?”

“You used to call me „Tuck‟.”
Jud‟s pulse had stuttered at that moment. “Oh, y-you…

you recognize me?”

Tucker had stared into Jud‟s eyes for nearly thirty

seconds before saying, “Heart, I‟d know you anywhere.”

Jud had felt his face flush and found it difficult to meet

Tucker‟s eyes, but he hadn‟t missed the sly grin on the
man‟s face.

“How‟d it go?”
Jud jerked upright and found Ham standing by his

cubicle, grinning and staring at him.

“What?”
“At the prison. How was it seeing your old school pal?

Think you‟ll get a good feature out of him?”

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“Uh, I‟m just now listening to my notes, but his story is

compelling.” Jud ran his hand through his hair, lifting a
strand out of his face. “As we talked, I remembered some
things myself.”

“Yeah? Like what?”
“Oh, um… just high school stuff.” Jud sighed. “I‟ll, uh…

fill you in later, Ham. Okay? I‟d really like to get on this while
it‟s all still fresh in my head.”

“Sure, man. No problem.” Ham rapped his knuckles on

the cubicle wall. “See ya tomorrow.”

He watched his friend walk away, and then he looked

around the newsroom. Most of the other cubicles were
deserted, but he could see a couple of people in their seats,
all probably doing what he was: working on feature stories
for future editions.

Adina, the lifestyles editor—jet-black hair and bright,

red-framed glasses—sat in her fancifully decorated work
station, writing a feature on a local pediatrician. Ten or
twelve colorful paper flowers from Mrs. Gladell‟s

first grade

class adorned the outside of her space, all thank-yous for a
story she‟d done on them last month.

Rusty, the sports editor, was at the back of the room

near the photo lab, glasses on top of his bald head, feet up
on the desk, talking loudly into his phone as he interviewed
the current bad boy on the local university‟s football team.

Kember, copy editor, was patiently taking instruction

from one of the editorial staff as she constructed the op-ed
page for tomorrow on her computer screen. Jud could see
her struggle to keep her temper as the editor stood looking
over her shoulder and nitpicking the placement of each
Letter to the Editor.

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After watching his coworkers for a few minutes, he

realized he was gripping his mini-recorder so tightly his
hand had begun to ache. He and Tucker had spent the first
ten minutes of the interview refreshing their memories of
each other by reliving their time in school together. Jud ran
the tape forward a bit, pushed the play button again, and
lifted it to his ear….

“Do you remember how much grief you gave me for going

out for soccer?”

Tucker chuckled, covering his mouth as he did to hide a

few bad teeth in his smile. “Yup. I thought you should
concentrate on basketball.”

“I wasn‟t getting any play, Tuck.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You got more field time in soccer,

but I… I guess I… missed you, missed seeing you on the
bench.”

They fell quiet then, until Jud asked, “What happened

with you and Carla?”

“You don‟t remember?”
Jud shook his head. “I headed off to college, and the last

I heard, you and she were getting married.”

“We got pregnant. Had a baby girl—Rosie.” Tucker‟s

expression clouded for a moment. “Carla has full custody
now. She‟s remarried to a good guy. He‟s good to Rosie and
her. I get pictures on birthdays, though.”

“You were a good guy, Tucker.”
“No, Heart. I wanted to be, tried to be, but I couldn‟t seem

to get things right, ya know?”

Jud nodded. “Man, what happened? Do you remember

where—?”

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“I went wrong?”
Jud grinned sadly in the affirmative. “You were on your

way to college. You were getting out of here, man.”

Tucker sighed heavily and rubbed his shaved head

vigorously. “Jesus, Heart.” Jud waited and watched Tucker
as some inner struggle caused the inmate and former
basketball star to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “I guess…
things seemed to take a turn after that… that thing with
Alan.”

“Ah-ah-Alan?” Jud stuttered as a faint buzzing began in

his ears.

“Yeah, ya know… Larry Alan… Fairy Alan?”
Jud abruptly stopped the tape and rested his head on

his desk as a wave of nausea swept over him. Then he sat
upright suddenly, reached over, switched off his computer,
and began gathering his things. He shoved his notes and
recorder back into his briefcase and grabbed his jacket,
sliding one arm in as he headed for the office door.

“Heart!” Perry shouted. Jud groaned and stopped in his

tracks. “Get in here!” He turned on his heels and headed for
his editor‟s office, slipping his other arm into his jacket
anyway. “How was it at the prison?” she asked, her eyes
scanning something on her computer screen.

Jud stood in the doorway, both hands in front of him

holding his case. “It went fine. I was just heading home to
work on it.”

“What did you think of Clinton?” She glanced at him.

“Jesus! Are you all right?”

“What do you mean?”
“You look like shit.”

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“I‟m okay. Just tired, I guess.”
She watched him for a few seconds, weighing his

response against his appearance. “So, Clinton… didn‟t you
two go to school together?”

Jud‟s gaze narrowed. “You knew about that?”
Perry drummed the fingers of one hand on her desk as

she looked up at him and smiled. “I have your educational
history from your resume, and I came across his during my
preliminary review of the story idea.” They stared at each
other for a moment. “It wasn‟t hard to work it out. I did start
out as a reporter, ya know.” Silence fell between them again.
“Is that a problem?”

“N-no… no, I just….” Perry raised an eyebrow. “No it‟s

not a problem,” Jud finished.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Heart?”
“I‟m good, Mary. No worries.”
“Then I won‟t hold you up any longer. I‟ll expect a draft

on my desk by tomorrow afternoon.”

Jud nodded and hustled himself out the newsroom

door. He skipped the elevator and headed down the stairs
and out into the autumn sunshine. He stood on the street
for several moments, wondering which way to turn. His
stomach roiled, his head swam, his ears buzzed, and he
didn‟t understand why, not fully anyway.

There was something just on the edge of his memory,

something that kept dancing out of reach when his inner
mind turned to look at it. He wanted to hide, find a dark,
silent hole to hunker down in, and shut out the world.

A

RRIVING

back at his apartment, Jud paused long enough to

retrieve his mail and entered his place just before his

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ignorant neighbor tied him up in some conversation about
how “that Kenyan” had ruined the country. He leaned back
against his door and locked it, then quickly drew the shades
and turned off the telephone. He dropped down onto his
sofa, not even removing his jacket, fished out the recorder,
and pressed Play….

“… Fairy Alan?”
“I never called him that,” Jud said flatly.
“Sorry, Heart. I know. It‟s just… that‟s what the guys

called him.”

“I remember,” Jud sighed.
They were interrupted by a squawk from their guard‟s

radio, asking him to come up front ASAP. Tony looked at the
two of them suspiciously.

“We‟re good, Tony,” Tucker assured him, and Jud

nodded.

The guard stood and headed for the door. “I‟ll be right

back.”

Jud and Tucker watched the door close and lock, then

slowly turned to face each other again. They sat silently for
several seconds, the tiny recorder spinning pointlessly,
making a record of their breathing.

“I saw it happen,” Tucker said softly, and Jud nodded,

closing his eyes for a moment. “You don‟t forget a thing like
that. It sticks with you, colors the rest of your life, maybe…
you start to wonder what you could have done to—”

Jud snapped off the recorder, silencing Tucker. Finally

shedding his jacket, he carried his briefcase and the recorder
to his desk, which held his laptop and the most important

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ingredient to completing his feature—a bottle of whiskey in
the bottom drawer.

After removing the bottle, he found a short glass rolling

around in said drawer and snatched it up. Two whiskeys
later, he began writing. He wrote for hours, deep into the
night. He wrote about how a shiny, bright, promising young
life had basically imploded. He wrote about Tucker Clinton‟s
skills as a star athlete, his excellent grades, quick smile, and
warm personality, and he wrote about how different a
picture Tucker had presented to him at the penitentiary
today. Jud wrote about all Tucker‟s successes and
accolades, and then he detailed each bad decision that had
led the young man down the wrong road.

What Jud didn‟t include in his feature were the details

of the day he and the first boy he‟d ever loved had helplessly
watched a classmate die.

“I‟

M HERE

!

I‟m here!” Jud shouted, running late into the

newsroom amidst a cloud of newspapers, jacket, coffee cup,
and chaos.

“Heart!”
“Yeah?” Jud asked, pausing by his editor‟s office door.
Perry eyed him briefly over her glasses, taking in his

disheveled appearance. “We‟re down two writers. I need ten
inches on the mayor‟s car accident yesterday, eight inches
on the police chief‟s daughter and the strip club—both for
the first edition—and a copy of your feature on our native
son gone wrong, in my personal queue by two p.m. Got it?”
He was unaware that his shoulders appeared to slump even

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further under the weight of these new assignments. “You
look like hell. Can you do it?”

“I got it, boss,” Jud said, shuffling to his desk and

booting up his computer.

“Anything I can help with?” Ham whispered, appearing

at Jud‟s cubicle. “She‟s right. You look awful.”

“Thank you, and no, there isn‟t anything I need help

with. My feature is basically done, just needs a bit of
polishing, and I can knock these other two pieces out in—”

“Cunningham! Leave him be!”
Jud‟s friend jerked as if shot in the ass and scurried off

to his own cubicle. Jud watched him go, and he would have
smiled if his head wasn‟t pounding and his stomach wasn‟t
churning.

“Y

OU

headed to lunch, Heart?”

“Yes.”
“Good job on those last-minute pieces today.”
“Thanks.”
“Could you step in here a moment?”
Jud tapped down the frown struggling to break out on

his face. I really need to get a different desk. Somewhere out
of Perry‟s line of sight. He walked into his editor‟s office and
took a seat.

“What can I do for you, chief?”
“Brenda and I had a little talk about her teen suicide

feature while you were on deadline.”

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“Uh-huh.”
Perry glanced at her computer screen and tapped a few

keys before looking back at Jud. “You didn‟t mention the
suicide at your high school when you were attending.” Jud
remained silent and simply began rubbing his temples. “She
did the research. You were a student… you and Tucker
Clinton were students at Temple Flatts High the same year
this boy died, this Larry—”

“Alan. His name was Lawrence David Alan, and the

reason I didn‟t mention it is because it was ruled an
accident.”

They stared at each other for a couple of heartbeats,

then Perry‟s gaze lifted to look past Jud and into the
newsroom beyond. She could see a couple of heads turned
toward her office—drawn there by Jud‟s raised voice, no
doubt. She reached under the right corner of her big boss
desk and pressed a button, releasing the magnet holding the
door open, and watched it slowly swing shut.

“Do you mention him in your feature?”
Jud shook his aching head.
“Jud?”
“I refer to him only as a student whose death Tucker

witnessed. No names. But a lot of kids saw it happen… it
happened right in front of the school—Christ! I saw it
happen, and I turned out okay!”

Perry was silent for a few moments as she stared into

Jud‟s bloodshot eyes. “Enjoy your lunch, Heart.”

Jud stood abruptly, jerked open the door, left the office,

and rushed from the newsroom. The moment he stepped free
of the building, he immediately stumbled to his right and

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retched into a large planter, which held an obviously
tenacious, decorative mini-evergreen, numerous cigarette
butts, and other miscellaneous gifts of refuse from
passersby. He braced himself against the cool stone base
and mumbled his apologies.

He straightened up and ran his fingers through his hair

to brush it off his sweaty forehead as he peered across the
street and into the park. His gaze landed on his favorite
bench—under his sugar maple. It looked serene over there,
but where Jud stood, in his own skin, felt constricted,
suffocating, and painfully chaotic. He gulped. Why did he
feel like crying? Why did the sun appear to shine on that
bench—he glanced at the sky directly above him—but not
where he was standing?

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Ham asked, taking his elbow

gently.

“I… I‟m not….”
“Come to the diner with me, huh? Let me buy you some

soup and crackers.” His friend tugged a bit on his elbow,
urging him to the left. But Jud resisted, his eyes still locked
on his bench and… and a woman was sitting there now? An
old woman, so wrinkled it defied description. She looked to
be of Asian descent, her snow white hair pulled tightly back
off her face into a bun. She wore glasses and looked to be
knitting contentedly.

“What are you staring at?” Ham asked, following his

friend‟s gaze.

“You don‟t… you don‟t see that… that woman on the

park bench?” Jud licked his lips and glanced at his buddy
briefly, then quickly back to the old lady.

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“Yeah, I see her… little old Asian lady knitting? Smart-

looking, shiny black jacket with green, what, dragons on it?
Yep, got her. What of it? You know her?”

Jud opened his mouth to say no, but then he did

suddenly feel a familiarity about the woman. As he tried to
squeeze the knowledge he sought out of his brain, his eyes
drifted to the bus kiosk across the street, where an elderly
gentleman was waiting for the downtown trolley.

Jud turned on Ham, grabbing both his arms roughly.

“Isn‟t the guy waiting for the bus the same man we had
drinks with at Patrick‟s the other night? Uh… To-Topher?”

Ham tried to struggle free, looking into Jud‟s wild eyes

before taking a peek around his friend at the man waiting at
the kiosk. “Yeah, I guess that could be him,” Ham said with
a chuckle, “but honestly I don‟t remember much about that
night.”

Jud released his friend and abruptly stepped into the

street, heading for the park.

“Whoa!” Ham shouted, seeing the traffic lights change,

and not in Jud‟s favor. “Judson! What the fuck are you
doing?”

Horns blared and tires screeched, but Jud took no

notice. He just kept striding across the street like he was
indestructible. As he moved beyond them, cars sped up,
zooming around him as angry drivers shouted obscenities
out their windows. Jud reached the other side of the street
unharmed and glanced to his right at the old man by the
kiosk.

“Careful, son. You don‟t want to do something you‟ll

regret, do you?” he asked calmly.

“No, sir.”

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The old man nodded. “And you don‟t want to regret

something you didn‟t do.”

Jud nodded, and they both turned to look at the elderly

woman knitting on the bench. Her quick-flying needles
paused, and she glanced up and met Jud‟s gaze with a
smile. He smiled back and rushed into the park to speak to
her. He didn‟t know why, but he was going with his gut.

“Jud?” Ham shouted at his back.
Jud spun around, but continued walking backward.

“It‟s okay, Ham. I‟ll talk to you after lunch.”

“Heads up!” someone shouted. Jud turned to see an

elderly black gentleman with bright white hair drawing his
foot back to kick a soccer ball for all he was worth. Jud had
just enough time to recognize him as the man he‟d shared
his bench with days ago at lunch before the ball connected
with his head, knocking him flat on his back.

As he lay there staring up at a spinning, cloudless sky,

three white-topped, wrinkled faces came into his line of
sight—the man from the bar, the man from the bench, and
the lady who knitted. They all smiled warmly at him. Then
Jud heard a shrill whistle and someone, probably Ham,
shouted, “Heart!”

There was a lot of movement and jostling around him,

and suddenly a man was on his knees beside him.

“Judson, you okay?”
Numerous shadows fell across him as he struggled to sit

up.

“No, son. Don‟t move yet.”
“Honestly, I‟m okay… just rang my bell a bit….”

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Another man rushed up and applied pressure to Jud‟s

shoulder to keep him prone. “Don‟t move, Heart. Let the
nurse take a look at you first,” the new arrival ordered.

“The wha…?” Jud fought his way to a sitting position

and found himself looking around at more than twenty
young men clad in T-shirts, white shorts, and cleats. Some
looked worried. Most looked amused. Where the hell had
they come from?

Jud leaped unsteadily to his feet, his arms pinwheeling

as he stumbled backward and free of the circle of young
onlookers. A dark lock of hair fell into his face, covering his
right eye, but only briefly, as Jud began whipping his head
around trying to orient himself.

“What? Where?”
The park was gone. The trees—his tree and his bench

were gone. He stood on a soccer field, goal nets at either end,
a battered collection of bleachers at his left. He looked down
at the grass beneath his feet. It was short and worn and
brown is some places, but it had a white line painted on it,
the halfway point. He gave it an experimental dig with the
toe of his cleat—his cleat.

“Uh… wait a sec—”
“Heart!”
At the unmistakable timbre of his high school coach‟s

voice, Jud‟s head jerked back up to see the man striding
toward him. “We haven‟t checked you out yet, boy. Why are
you walking around instead of waiting for the nurse?”

“I… I….”
Coach Hubert placed a steadying hand on Jud‟s

shoulder and looked into his eyes, apparently in search of

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the meaning of life. “You took a solid blow to the coconut,
son. If you‟d cut your hair,” the coach continued, giving
Jud‟s bangs an experimental tug, “you might have seen that
one coming.”

“Uh….”
“You should be taking it easy until someone can have a

look at you. We have those rules for a reason. I‟ll be damned
if I get threatened with a lawsuit every year!”

Dreaming, dreaming, Jud shouted inside his head. His

breath quickened as he took in the sheen of sweat on
Hubert‟s bald pate, the man‟s beady dark eyes, his horrid
red polyester shorts, navy knee socks, and old gray cleats.
Jud swayed a bit as he felt the pinch of the coach‟s grip on
his bicep. Jud‟s stomach flipped as a strong breeze disturbed
his hair… his new, exceedingly unruly hair.

Coach

Hubert‟s

expression

shifted

slightly

to

calculating. “You spew, Heart, and you‟re off the soccer
team!”

“S-soccer?” Jud whispered, his throat terribly dry. “I

haven‟t played soccer since high sch—”

“And there he goes!” a couple of boys sang out as Jud‟s

eyes rolled back in his head and the world slipped away from
him.

T

HE

left side of his face felt warm. He thought that strange

until he became aware of light filtering through his eyelids.
He moaned when the stinging odor of antiseptic hit his nose.
He winced at the sound of a bell ringing, the obnoxious
jangle reverberating around him, startling his heart. He

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opened his eyes and found himself lying on an exam table.
There were large windows at his left, the blinds open, so Jud
could look out and see the street in front of his old high
school.

He sat up abruptly and stared out the window. He

watched a wave of students flee the building, some crossing
to a parking lot facing the school, others climbing into their
parents‟ cars or onto buses, and still others lingering or
catching up to fellow students for the walk home. It was a
familiar, undulating swarm of activity that he remembered
seeing play out nearly every weekday of his life until he
graduated.

“Feeling better, Mr. Heart?” a pleasant female voice

asked.

Jud jerked his eyes away from the window and turned

to face Rebecca Bindy.

Nurse Becky was a straight boy‟s wet dream. The pencil

skirt and sensible shoes did absolutely nothing to dim her
radiant womanliness. In fact, the navy cardigan over a crisp
white shirt barely contained her ample bosom. She was
older, about the age of most of the students‟ mothers, but
she had the curves of a 50s movie star. And it was all topped
off with shiny, copper-colored hair swept up into a neat,
professional do, compassionate green eyes, long lashes, and
full lips.

She was the woman all the athletes discussed in the

locker room: what they‟d like to do to her or have her do to
them. There were even a few stories about alleged
“encounters” with the good nurse, but Jud suspected those
were outright lies and that most of the boys were terrified of
her, which, he supposed, held its own appeal.

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She leaned closer to him, aiming a penlight in one eye

before lifting a lock of hair out of his other eye and repeating
the action. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Blurry vision?”

“N-no, ma‟am,” Jud said, “but… I am a bit confused.”
She leaned back from him and crossed her arms. Her

brow furrowed. Her lips twisted. “Yes? How so, Mr. Heart?”

“Uh… am I… am I right in that this is 2001?”
Her eyes narrowed before she turned abruptly and

walked to her desk. “Right. I‟ve contacted your parents,” she
said as she picked up a clipboard and began writing. “I‟m
suggesting they get you a CAT scan at St. Mary‟s.”

Jud quickly swung his legs off the examination table.

“No. Wait. I‟m… I was just kidding. I‟m okay, Becky.”

She whirled on him, staring at him until the arm he‟d

raised to stop her slowly returned to his side.

“Clearly you‟re not okay, Mr. Heart.” She walked back

over to him, and he cowered a bit. “Or you wouldn‟t have
addressed me so. I am Nurse Bindy, or ma‟am, to you, yes?”

“Yes, ma‟am.” Jud thought his voice sounded awfully

small for a twenty-eight-year-old man.

A timid knock at the door did not break their eye

contact, and Jud began to squirm slightly. Were nurses
allowed to hurt people? he wondered.

“Come in!” Nurse Bindy said.
The door opened. “Good afternoon, ma‟am. Is Heart—oh,

hey, man!”

“Close the door, please, Mr. Clinton.”
“Yes, ma‟am.” Nurse Bindy went back to her desk as

Jud‟s best friend swaggered toward him with a sly grin on

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his handsome face. “I heard you got hurt.” Tucker snorted in
delight, but quickly got it under control when the nurse
leveled her gaze at them. He lowered his voice and squeezed
Jud‟s knee. “At soccer. Man you need to come back and
focus on hoops with me.” He stared at Jud, confused. “Are
you okay, Heart?”

Jud couldn‟t speak. Standing before him was his wet

dream, the seventeen- or eighteen-year-old version,
beautiful, with a head full of sandy-blond locks, large
piercing green eyes, and a dusting of freckles across the
bridge of his nose. Those freckles. I remember those freckles.
There was no weariness, bad teeth, or tattoos. Just
unadulterated Tucker in all his high school glory.

“Heart?”
“I think I‟m dreaming,” Jud whispered, grinning like an

idiot. He thought he might cry. Tucker matched the smile
until Jud‟s gaze fell to the large hand on his knee. Tucker
removed it quickly, and Jud fought not to blush. But he lost
that one as he felt his face heat.

“Maybe you are.”
“Everything feels too real for it to be a dream, Tuck,”

Jud said, letting his eyes drift back to his knee, where he
swore he could still feel the warmth from Tucker‟s hand.
Both boys jumped slightly at the sound of paper ripping.
They looked over at Nurse Bindy, who was holding up a
sheet of paper, probably torn off the notepad on her
clipboard.

“Mr. Clinton, kindly escort Mr. Heart to the front of the

school to wait for his parents.” Tucker rushed over and
retrieved the nurse‟s instructions. Her gaze shifted to Jud.

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“I‟ve included my cell number in case they have any
questions for me.”

Jud nodded and peeled his bare legs off the part of the

exam table that wasn‟t covered by sterile paper, and Tucker
dutifully ushered Jud out the door. Once alone in the
hallway, Tucker gave his friend a congratulatory punch in
the arm.

“How‟d you do in there, man?”
“Huh?”
“With Nurse Becky? She‟s somethin‟ else.”
“Oh… yeah, she‟s uh, very attractive.”
Tucker scrunched up his face. “„Attractive‟? She‟s

smokin‟ hot, ya doofus!” He turned from Jud and started
walking down the hall. “Come on, you need to change before
your folks show up.” Jud watched Tucker‟s retreating
backside for a few seconds, the denim hugging his firm
bottom, before hurrying after him. “So what happened on the
field?” Tucker asked when Jud caught up to him.

“Got hit in the head by the ball, is all.”
Tucker looked sideways at Jud and grinned. “That‟s it?

‟Cause you don‟t seem like yourself.”

“How so?”
Tucker shrugged. “Don‟t know exactly. Guess you seem

a bit squirrelier than usual.”

Jud grinned shyly and tried to sneak glimpses of his old

friend as they walked to the gym. He marveled at how much
Tucker had changed in ten years. The man he‟d interviewed
at the prison seemed light years away from the young man
he was looking at now. Now? Then? Jud didn‟t know what to
think, so his thoughts easily drifted to memories of autumn

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afternoons up in his room with Tucker, helping his friend
with a history paper or a creative writing project or running
lines from Macbeth.

Jud recalled how much he‟d enjoyed those study

sessions, how nice it was to lay across his bed with Tucker,
so close they could, if they wanted to, reach out and touch.
Of course they never did. Not until that last time.

They entered the locker room off the gym.
“Better hurry and change. Don‟t want to keep your folks

waiting,” Tucker said before he straddled the bench one over
from Jud‟s locker, digging into his pocket to pull out the
nurse‟s instructions and read them over. Jud opened his
locker and took out his jeans, sneakers, and shirt, but then
he hesitated, not wanting to undress in front of Tucker.
Sure, years ago, he‟d done it a hundred times as they
prepared for basketball games, but right now it gave him
pause.

When Tucker had placed his hand on his knee in Nurse

Bindy‟s office, the tingle and a lot of blood had rushed
straight to his cock. He sat on the bench and began unlacing
his cleats.

“Says here you might have had a concussion, and….”

Tucker raised his head to look at Jud with shocked eyes.
“You didn‟t know what year it was?” Tucker laughed out
loud, falling backward on the bench in hysterics. “Man, you
really are squirrelier than usual, huh?”

Jud watched his friend spread out before him. It would

be so easy to run his hand along the leg of his jeans until…
until Tucker knocked his teeth out. “What are you lookin‟
at?” Tucker had raised his head and was looking at Jud.

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A shiver ran visibly through Jud, and he shook his

head. “Uh, I‟m just… a bit unfocused. Sorry.”

Tucker propped himself up slightly on one elbow, this

time looking genuinely concerned. “Hurry up. I think you
really need to get to the hospital before you lose anymore
brain cells.”

Jud nodded and smiled weakly. Yeah, Tucker. I‟m nuts…

a grade-A macadamia.

Tucker went back to reading the nurse‟s report of the

incident. Jud sighed and pressed down on his hard-on,
trying to will it away before he shed his shorts to slip into his
jeans. Looking up at the ceiling and frowning briefly at the
water stains and chipping, pale green paint, Jud took several
deep breaths and imagined jumping into icy Lake Bergen
with… old lady Malloy, the school librarian. Ahh.

With that solved, Jud risked a glance at Tucker. His

friend now had one arm thrown over his eyes, his other arm
hanging limply to the floor, Nurse Bindy‟s instructions
clutched in his hand. Jud turned his back and quickly
dropped his shorts; then he hopped into his jeans, sighing in
relief when he closed the zipper. He turned back to face
Tucker, his movements taking on a more casual pace as he
tucked in his shirt and secured his belt. But, catching sight
of himself in the large horizontal mirror at the far end of the
locker room, he froze.

His black hair hung limply on his head, a stubborn lock

falling over his left eye. He almost groaned out loud as he
looked over his once-again scrawny body. God, I hope I wake
up from this soon. Even at seventeen or eighteen, his body
was still mostly boy. He‟d had to work hard to pack on the
muscle during the decade since high school. He glanced

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Tucker‟s way again. They were the same age, but clearly
Tucker‟s genes were way ahead of Jud‟s, more… physically
mature.

He quickly finished dressing and tied his sneakers. “I‟m

ready. Let‟s go.” Jud grabbed his book bag and slammed his
locker.

The halls were eerily quiet, though young voices could

be heard from a distance. When they walked through the
front doors of the school, the cool air bit into Jud. Okay, that
settles it, he thought as he looked at the colorful trees before
him. It‟s autumn, 2001. I‟m eighteen… we‟re eighteen. Jud
smiled as he struggled into a hoodie. Laughing to himself, he
thought, I‟m eighteen again! Why? He didn‟t care. How? Head
trauma.

“Aw, is baby chilly?” Tucker teased.
Jud snorted. “Blow me, Clinton.”
Tucker gave Jud a solid shove, knocking him off the

walkway and sending him stumbling into the grass.
“Anytime, anywhere, Heart.”

Jud recovered quickly and came back at Tucker,

slamming into him and sending him to the ground. He
landed on his behind and dissolved into hysterics, which
Jud matched.

“Oh, man, your mom‟s here,” Tucker pointed out as

Mrs. Heart‟s blue Toyota pulled up.

Jud offered Tucker a hand up, and they approached the

car.

“Hello, Tucker,” Mrs. Heart said. “How‟s your mom?”
“She‟s good, ma‟am,” Tucker answered as he leaned in

the front passenger window. Jud climbed into the backseat,

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marveling at how little his mother had changed in ten years.
For some reason he felt proud.

“You need a ride anywhere, dear?”
Tucker passed the nurse‟s instructions to Jud‟s mother.

“I‟m meeting Carla at the library?”

“Hop in,” Jud‟s mom instructed as she glanced over

what the nurse had to say. “Judson, we‟re going to the
hospital after we drop Tucker off.”

“Mom!”
“You didn‟t know the year.”
He couldn‟t argue with that, could he? Tucker climbed

in the backseat with Jud and unceremoniously shoved him
over. Jud chuckled, but then quickly sobered when he felt
his mother still watching him.

“Yes?”
“What‟s the date, Judson?”
“Mom.”
“Don‟t whine, dear. Just answer.”
Judson didn‟t have an answer for that. He looked out

the window at the colorful trees and guessed, “It‟s…
October….”

“Yes?” she prompted, turning slightly in her seat. Jud

could see one eyebrow raised inquiringly, waiting.

Jud felt Tucker watching him closely, too, then a

methodical tapping on his left leg. One, two, three, four, five.
“October

fifth!”

Mrs. Heart‟s eyes cut to Tucker accusingly, and he gave

her his most innocent expression. She turned in her seat

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and put the car in gear. “You‟re still going to the hospital,”
she stated as she pulled away from the curb.

Jud sighed, and Tucker reached over and violently

disturbed his hair. “So, you coming back to basketball?
Giving up this soccer nonsense?”

“I like soccer,” Jud said indignantly. “I don‟t get any

court time in b-ball. Everyone is bigger than me, better than
me. I‟m good at soccer. Coach said I was an asset to the
team, thank you very much.”

“I guess… I just miss you, Heart.”
Jud smiled at his friend. I‟ve missed you, too, all these

years. So much.

Suddenly Tucker grabbed Jud‟s foot, removed a

sneaker, and begun tickling him mercilessly. Jud shrieked.

“Boys! Please don‟t wrestle in the car.”
“S-sorry, Ma!” Jud managed, kicking out at Tucker and

accidentally connecting with his mouth.

“Oh shit!—sorry, Mom—you okay, man?” Jud asked.

Tucker held his hand to his mouth and glared at Jud as Jud
tried to pull Tucker‟s hand away to have a look. “Lemme see,
you big baby.”

He finally got a glimpse of Tucker‟s mouth and saw…

nothing. No blood, no swelling. He was fine, but Jud didn‟t
realize until too late. Tucker quickly pinned him and began
tickling his ribs, bringing another shriek out of Jud.

“Boys!”
As he tried to fight Tucker off and catch his breath, Jud

could also feel his dick hardening—from the friction as they
tussled, from the weight of his friend pinning him down,

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from the tickling, from the manic look in Tucker‟s beautiful
green eyes—and terror seized him.

Tires screeched and the car jolted to a stop sending both

of them to the floor.

“Son of a bitch!” Jud‟s mother shouted. From the floor of

the car Jud could hear car horns and raised voices.

“What happened, Mom?” Jud asked as he and Tucker

climbed back in their seats and secured their seatbelts
dutifully. He leaned in his seat to see a cluster of cars in
front of them just starting to move again.

“Not sure, sweetie. I think someone ran into the street.”
Their car began moving, and Jud saw they were

approaching the city park near the library. He slid his shoe
back on before rolling down his window and peering out.

A breeze carried, “Dance, Fairy! Give us a show!” into

the car. Jud saw several large boys chasing a smaller one
into the park. They caught him easily, and two of them
began shoving their target around between them, while
another grabbed the victim‟s backpack and began going
through it, tossing the items onto the grass. Jud felt a shiver
run through him as the car turned left and away from the
scene. He twisted in his seat to watch through the back
window as Larry Alan and his tormentors grew smaller with
distance.

He turned forward again and became very still, very

silent.

“You okay, man? You look pale,” Tucker said.
Jud could see his mother‟s eyes darting to her rearview

mirror to watch him. “Honey? Judson, you look ill.”

Jud closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

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“Judson, hon—”
“Mom, stop!” She slammed on the brakes, and Jud

climbed over Tucker and was out of the car instantly.

“W-where‟s he going?” he heard her ask in bewilderment

as she quickly pulled out of traffic and to the side of the
road.

“Hey, guys, how‟s it hanging?” Jud asked as he walked

up to the group. A trio of familiar idiots—Mike, Ted, and
Kyle, as Jud remembered them—paused in their play and
turned surprised eyes on him.

“Hey, Heart,” Mike, the leader, said without a hint of

amusement, “thought you was in a coma.”

Jud smiled and shook his head. “Nah, man. Just got hit

with the ball,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady and
to calm his heart. I may look eighteen, but I‟m a grown man,
dammit! He thought he might throw up. “I was on my way to
get my head scanned when I spotted this little party.” He
gestured vaguely with his index finger.

Mike sneered at Larry, who was kneeling and trying to

collect his sheet music and books. The boy was dressed all
in black and had tears streaking his face.

“Yeah well, we figured Fairy Alan, here, is so fond of

performing,” Mike said with a wicked smile, “that the little
faggot ought to put on a command performance for us.” The
two other boys laughed like properly trained Andy Richter
impersonators.

Jud didn‟t take his eyes from Mike. “Really? Because all

I saw were three very large guys chasing down and shoving
around a smaller guy like the big brave boys they are.”

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The smiles struggled to remain on their faces, but failed,

giving way to bemusement—as if they were trying to
comprehend a foreign language. Jud could see, peripherally,
Larry‟s eyes widen and his lips part in surprise. The other
three continued to look at Jud uncertainly.

“Larry, get your things,” he said. “My mom will drop you

off at home, if you want.”

“Hang on, Heart,” Mike said, giving Larry a shove back

to the ground with his foot. “Why the fuck do you care about
us playing with the queer?”

“I‟m… I‟m not g-gay,” Larry said in a very small voice, so

much smaller than his stage voice.

“Shut up!” Ted yelled, causing Larry to cower.
“Let‟s go,” Jud said, holding his hand out to Larry to

help him up. Larry‟s eyes darted over all their faces before he
reached out to take Jud‟s hand. Suddenly Mike shoved Jud
in the chest, sending him flying backward and into the arms
of Tucker, who held onto him until he regained his feet.

“Problem, Penholt?” Tucker asked Mike, who didn‟t back

down.

“Heart‟s butting in where he‟s not needed.”
Tucker and Mike stared at each other until Mike looked

away, and then Tucker looked directly at Larry and said,
“Get your shit together. We‟re going.”

Larry grabbed his backpack and quickly stood by

Tucker and Jud. The other boys just watched them turn and
head off, back across the park.

“Your mom‟s parked by the library. She ain‟t too happy,

man.”

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Jud didn‟t say anything at first. He was looking Larry

over for injuries. “You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” the smaller boy said as he shouldered

his backpack.

“Jud, I‟m talking to you.”
“Sorry, Tuck. Thanks for backing me up.”
Tucker grinned. “I‟ve always got your back, man. No

worries.” A frown clouded Tucker‟s face briefly, and he put
his massive hand on Jud‟s chest to stop him. “Hey, Alan, see
that blue Toyota Cressida by the library? That‟s our ride. Go
introduce yourself to Jud‟s mom. Tell her we‟ll be right along,
yeah?” Larry nodded and rushed off, obviously eager to be
safe inside something with lockable doors.

After he was out of earshot, Tucker turned back to Jud.

“What was that all about? You don‟t even know Larry.”

“Tuck, he‟s in three of my classes, and he‟s been in no

less than two of yours, every weekday, for the past four
years.”

Tucker blinked at him. “Well… you never even spoke to

him before.”

Jud nodded. “I spoke to him today.” He gestured behind

him to where they‟d left Mike and his flunkies. “Those dicks
have been on his case ever since his first performance,
freshman year. I‟m sick of it.”

Tucker eyed him closely for a moment and then just

shrugged as they continued to the library. “I think you got
hit by that ball a lot harder than you‟re letting on,” he said,
and Jud chuckled.

A

FTER

saying his goodbyes to Tucker by the library—Carla

had come out to greet him with a kiss that Jud found overly

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passionate—Jud sat in the backseat of the car and studied
Larry Alan. The boy was small for his age. He didn‟t
remember him being this small, and he was… odd. It‟s the
only word that came to mind. He was finding it difficult to
believe the powerful voice he‟d witnessed at the glee club‟s
performances during his high school years had come out of
this kid.

“Why are you staring at me?” Larry asked, suddenly

turning to face him, some of his blond hair falling into his
face. Why did we all wear our hair like that? Were we
rebelling or just trying to hide?

“S-sorry, man. I was just thinking about you in glee

club. You have an amazing voice.”

Larry studied him for one stunned moment and then

fought to keep a grin from taking over his plain face. But it
isn‟t plain, Jud thought. Not really. More like pretty. Larry
had fine, delicate features and large deep blue eyes, and his
lips were rosy, the bottom one pouty.

“Th-thank you,” Larry whispered, turning back to his

sheet

music

and

quickly,

almost

unconsciously,

straightening it and putting it back in order before slipping it
into a folder and into his backpack. It looked like something
he was well practiced at, something he did often. Jud
conjured an image of the boy at home, alone in his room,
focusing all his attention and effort and time on that music,
the one thing he could shine at. Then he remembered the
day he saw Larry die, and Jud closed his eyes and shivered.

“Honey, are you okay?” his mother asked.
Jud didn‟t open his eyes because he didn‟t want to see

his mother‟s concern in the rearview mirror. “I‟m fine, Mom.”

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“Oh… well, here we are, Larry. Ooo, this house is

lovely.”

“Thank you, ma‟am.” Larry quickly undid his seatbelt

and unlocked the door to exit.

“Larry!” Jud practically shouted.
“Huh?” Larry had one foot on the pavement outside the

car.

“You want to get together and study sometime?”
The smaller boy slid out and stood, framed by the open

car door, staring at Jud. The sound of his confusion was
almost audible. “Like for the trig test?”

“Trig?”
“Yeah. Friday in Lawson‟s class.”
“Oh! Yeah. Great. Um, come by tomorrow?”
“Where do you live?”
Jud started to say, but paused, trying desperately to

remember the address of his parents‟ first house.”

“It‟s 1919 Davis Avenue,” his mother offered.
“Uh, yeah. That‟s it,” Jud said, keenly aware of his

mother‟s narrowed eyes in the rearview.

“It‟s a green—”
“Blue.”
“Blue… Craftsman with white trim,” Jud corrected,

glancing sideways at his mom in the front seat.

“I‟ll come by after school.”
Jud shook his head. “Meet me by the big oak in front,

and we‟ll walk over together.”

“O-okay. Thanks.”

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Jud detected a shy smile on Larry‟s face as he shut the

car door and walked quickly up to his house, shouting,
“Mom!” as he entered.

His mother pulled back into traffic. “So you‟ve made a

new friend?”

Jud stared out the window at the traffic and tried to

wipe the memory of Larry‟s death from his thoughts. “I hope
so.”

J

UD

didn‟t sleep well that night. At first he was afraid of

falling asleep, not knowing what year he‟d wake in, and
when it finally overtook him, his sleep was fitful with
disturbing images. Images of someone under a white sheet
with eye holes cut in it, a makeshift ghost, standing at the
end of the block from him—whether small from distance or
actual stature, he didn‟t know. It was autumn, windy, leaves
falling. He could hear a swarm of voices from other
students… some waiting for buses, others rushing across the
street to the parking lot.

The ghost began to move slowly in Jud‟s direction,

floating, or maybe it just appeared that way. None of the
others seemed to take notice, and he fought to catch a
glimpse of the feet moving beneath the sheet. Then Jud saw
Tucker, tall and gorgeous and smiling—at him. He smiled
back and waved, but as Tucker ran toward him, he passed
the little ghost and took the time to smack him hard in the
back of the head as he passed.

The little ghost stopped moving. Just stood there staring

straight ahead, his dark, hollow eyes seemed to bore into
Jud, chilling him, accusing him. He‟d read Tucker‟s lips. He

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knew what his friend had shouted as he struck out. The little
ghost turned abruptly to his left and walked into the street.

Jud woke shouting, the sound of the horn, the tires,

and the impact reverberating inside his skull. He hugged
himself to stop from making any further noise. He could
almost hear his mother listening in the darkness for any
further disturbance. His father was away on business, and
she was on high alert after his injury at soccer.

Once he‟d calmed himself, Jud went over the nightmare.

“That‟s not how it happened,” he whispered to no one. “Not
exactly.” He wondered about the ghost outfit. Halloween!
“That‟s it!” He remembered now.

Larry Alan was killed October 26, 2001. The Friday

before Halloween, he‟d walked in front of a school bus. He
wasn‟t wearing a white sheet, but his sheet music exploded
in a white cloud over his head and seemed to take hours to
float to the ground to rest next to his body. Jud struggled to
wring details out of his mind. Why was it so difficult to
remember?

His thoughts went to Tucker. His best friend. The boy he

loved. The boy he could never have. Their friendship was
strained after Larry‟s death—No. We were distant before that.
Then Jud remembered the kiss. He‟d kissed Tucker while
they studied in Jud‟s bedroom. It had been raining out, so
studying couldn‟t be avoided successfully. Tucker was losing
focus, as he so often did, shooting a Nerf ball into a tiny
basketball rim stuck in the far corner of the bedroom. Jud
was lying on his bed trying to concentrate and get Tucker to
refocus.

His nagging prompted Tucker to leap on the bed and

begin wrestling with him, tickling him. Jud tried to fend him

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off but got angry, and with a surge of determination and
outrage, he‟d turned the tables on his larger friend,
straddling him, pinning him. Breathless laughter and weak
struggles led to fading smiles and questioning looks, which
led to Jud losing his mind for a moment and kissing his best
friend. Jud had decided he‟d take the punch and possible
knee to the groin. He hadn‟t thought beyond that.

He definitely hadn‟t expected Tucker to part his lips for

him, for the kiss to deepen, or to feel Tucker‟s length swell
against his bottom. Then suddenly Jud was airborne and
crashing to the floor on his back. Ah, that was more like
what he expected. Before Jud could catch his breath and
massage the knot out of his back, Tucker was gathering his
books and rushing from the room. Jud heard his mother
shouting, “Boys! No horseplay up there!” at nearly the same
time he heard the front door slam behind Tucker as he fled.

After that Tucker kept his distance at school, but, most

disturbingly, he began joining in the torment of Larry Alan.
Up until the kiss, he and Jud had simply ignored it, which,
in itself, was wrong. But for the next couple of weeks, Jud
saw Tucker take an active part in harassing the boy. At the
time, Jud was too caught up in the loss of his best friend
and the possible exposure of his secret to take too much
notice.

Thinking about it now, in his bed and after that

nightmare, a vivid memory rushed him: Larry warily walking
the school hall, weaving in and around the other students,
the whole time keeping an eye out for his usual tormentors,
only to be blindsided and slammed into a locker by Tucker
Clinton. Larry had looked up at Tucker in shock as he‟d
hissed, “Watch where you‟re going, faggot!”

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Jud felt the sting of it now. The defeat on Larry‟s face,

the way he had just sat on the floor and slowly gathered his
books, then pulled himself up and resumed making his way
down the hall—now heavy with the knowledge that someone
new hated him. Jud remembered seeing Larry pass by. He
had looked hollowed out.

“I should have said something, done something,” Jud

whispered into the darkness. Or maybe not done something.
If he could avoid that moment of teenage insanity when he
kissed Tucker, maybe it would be enough to change things.
“I‟m not a teenager anymore,” he said, flicking on his bedside
lamp and catching a glimpse of himself in the dresser mirror.
“All evidence to the contrary.”

Laughing bitterly, Jud climbed out of bed and walked

across the room to remove the calendar from his wall. He
hopped back into bed, retrieved a pen from his bedside table,
and began counting the days to the

twenty-sixth.

“H

EY

,

Larry!” Jud shouted with a smile and a wave.

The boy ran up to him as he waited by the big oak in

front of the school. “Can we go?” Larry asked as he looked
over his shoulder repeatedly.

Jud frowned and looked at the doors leading into the

school just as Mike Penholt emerged and zeroed in on them,
smiling.

“Sure. This way.” They began walking up Colton Street.

If Jud remembered correctly, he could cut through the
Johnsons‟ backyard and emerge just eight houses from his
own.

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“Hey, wait up, Heart!” Mike shouted, but Jud didn‟t turn

around. However, Larry did glance back nervously, just as
Mike‟s hand slammed down onto Jud‟s shoulder and spun
him around. “Didn‟t you hear me, dude? Where are you and
Fairy Alan off to in such a hurry?”

“Larry and I are going to study for the trig test on

Friday.”

“Really? Maybe we‟d”—Mike turned and signaled to his

cronies, Ted and Kyle, who rushed their way—“like to finish
our conversation with Alan that you interrupted the other
day.”

“You‟re done conversing with Larry.”
Mike and Larry looked at Jud in astonishment, as did

Tucker, who approached at that moment.

“What‟s going on?” he asked as Ted and Kyle slowed

their approach considerably, watching and waiting on what
Mike would do or not do in Tucker‟s presence.

Without taking his eyes from Mike‟s, Jud filled Tucker

in.

“Studying, huh?” he asked, glancing around Jud‟s

shoulder at Larry.

His gaze shifted defiantly to Tucker. “Yeah.”
Tucker looked surprised, then he angrily grabbed Jud‟s

arm and tugged him away from the group. “Okay, Heart.
What the fuck is going on? Why so chummy with Alan
suddenly?”

Jud studied his friend‟s face for a moment. “Tuck, I am

trying to make sure Larry isn‟t bullied anymore. It. Has. To.
Stop. Do you understand?”

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“Why do you care?” he asked with a laugh. “You in love

with the guy?”

Jud glanced sideways at the four boys awaiting the

outcome of their conversation. The three athletes took turns
watching them and glaring at a cowering Larry, who looked
about ready to bolt.

Jud looked back into Tucker‟s eyes and spoke softly,

carefully. “No, Tucker. I‟m not in love with Larry Alan.” He
fell silent for a few heartbeats, and their audience
unconsciously leaned in, straining to hear. “But I have to
ask you, what if I were? How would you feel if I was
interested in a guy?”

Tucker reacted as if he‟d been slapped and stepped back

a bit from Jud. They stared at each other as Tucker tried
unsuccessfully to fix a smile on his face.

“You‟re kidding, right?”
“I‟m asking you, as my friend: How would you feel?”
Tucker struggled for a few more moments before saying,

“I don‟t know, man. That‟s a weird question.”

“You two sweethearts done with your chitchat?” Mike

asked teasingly. Tucker‟s face immediately clouded, and he
closed the distance between him and Mike in a blur,
grabbing him by the front of his shirt and practically lifting
him off his feet. Ted and Kyle backed up, and Larry stepped
backward into the street, prompting Jud to rush forward and
pull him back up onto the sidewalk.

“Tucker,” Jud said softly, his eyes moving between his

friend‟s face and the fist shaking at his side. “He‟s not worth
it. What he thinks doesn‟t matter. Do you understand?” His
words seemed to soothe his friend, and his expression

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mellowed from rage to confusion as Jud watched. Tucker
released Mike and looked at Jud, who nodded and smiled.

“Larry and I are gonna go now. Tucker, you‟re welcome

to study with us. You other three can back the fuck off.”

With that, Jud turned away from the group and

motioned for Larry to follow, and, with his eyes wide, he did.

F

ORTY

-

FIVE

minutes into their study session, Jud looked

down at Larry, who had shunned the bed and taken a spot
on the floor in front of the window. The boy was wearing all
black again, sitting cross-legged as he worked a problem
with his math book in his lap and his spiral notebook on top
of that. Jud watched him think, chew his pencil, erase, and
write, then he tossed his hair out of his face and looked up
at Jud, holding the notebook out so he could check his work.
When he caught Jud watching him, he withdrew the book
and withdrew into himself.

“I‟m not gay,” Larry declared.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yep.” Jud reached out his hand. “Let me see your

work?”

Larry passed the notebook to him, and Jud began

checking the problem. He could feel Larry‟s eyes on him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Larry asked.
“Huh?”
“You stepped in the other day, and now we‟re studying

together.” Jud nodded without looking up. “Why? You‟ve

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barely acknowledged my existence for more than three years,
and your friends can‟t stand me.”

“They‟re not my friends,” Jud said without looking up

from the notebook. Eventually he put his pencil down and
handed Larry back the first problem. “You got this right!
Good job.”

Larry took the pad, but continued to stare at Jud until

Jud sighed. “Look, you are an amazing performer onstage,
but when you‟re walking down the hallway, you look like a
victim, a target. It‟s like you expect to be pummeled.”

“After four years here, I do expect to be. Are you saying

it‟s my fault I get picked on?”

“No! That‟s not what I meant.” Jud closed his eyes

before rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “I just
wish I could see the strength and confidence you show
onstage when you‟re offstage.”

“That‟s different.”
Jud rolled back over and looked at Larry, who wouldn‟t

meet his eyes. “How so?”

“I‟m someone else when I‟m up there. I‟m pretending. It‟s

make-believe.”

Jud shook his head. “No. That guy onstage is part of

you.” Jud stretched out and poked Larry in the chest. “He‟s
in there, man.”

Larry stared at Jud for several moments before saying,

“Jud?”

“Yeah?”
“Are… are you gay?”
Jud sighed. “It doesn‟t matter if I‟m gay or not, Larry.

Doesn‟t matter if you are or not. What matters is that we

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have our whole lives ahead of us, lives filled with
possibilities. You‟ll see that once we make it to graduation.”

Larry chuckled. “You sound like Mr. Ginger, the

guidance counselor.”

Jud blushed and tried to think of a way to explain why

his eighteen-year-old mouth was spouting twenty-eight-year-
old wisdom.

“Boys? Are you hungry?” Mrs. Heart shouted from

downstairs.

Saved. They looked at each other. “I could eat,” Larry

said, raising an eyebrow.

The boys sat at the kitchen island, eating, and spent the

next thirty minutes talking about what they‟d like to study in
college. Larry, of course, wanted to get into a good
performing arts school, and his parents—his mother,
anyway—seemed supportive. Jud admitted he‟d like to be a
writer but said his parents had no idea. He told Larry that
his father expected him to follow Tucker to college and into
an engineering program.

“What are you going to do?” Larry asked.
Jud finished off his sandwich, clapping the crumbs from

his fingers dramatically.

“I‟m going to be a writer.” He said it out loud and proud,

his voice steady and very different from how he‟d sounded
when he had actually told his parents. Larry appeared to be
in awe of him, and Jud felt his face heat.

They went back to studying and continued until the sun

began to set, the doorbell signaling the end of their efforts for
the evening.

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“That must be my dad,” Larry said, gathering up his

books. “Mom said he‟d pick me up on his way home from
work.”

Jud accompanied Larry downstairs and was surprised

to see Tucker standing in the entryway with Mrs. Heart.

“Larry, dear, your father is outside in the car, and Jud,

you‟ve got company.”

“Thank you, ma‟am,” Larry said quietly as he skated

past Tucker, who watched him, frowning.

“Thanks, Mom,” Jud said. “Come on up, Tuck.”
Jud went into his room and flopped on his bed, lazily

collecting and straightening his books to make room for
Tucker. But his friend remained in the doorway, hands
shoved in pockets, and refused to meet Jud‟s eyes.

“Tuck?”
“Jud, I… I need to know what‟s going on with you.”
“Why didn‟t you come over and study with us, man?”
“I hung out and shot some hoops with Mike and the

guys.”

“The guys?”
“Heart, explain this… this thing with Alan. Please.”
Jud watched his friend for a long time and then said,

“I‟m gay, and Larry and I are in love.”

Tucker laughed, walked over to Jud‟s dresser and began

closely examining the items on it: books, socks, underwear,
the calendar with the twenty-sixth circled on it, a couple
CDs.

“Bullshit, dude!”

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“Yeah, it‟s bullshit… at least the being-in-love-with-Alan

part.”

Jud saw Tucker‟s shoulders stiffen, and even though he

didn‟t turn to face him, the mirror reflected Tucker‟s faltering
smile and wary gaze. “So you‟re saying… you‟re gay?”

“Tuck, I need you to hold it together.”
“Since when?” Tucker shouted, whirling to face Jud.
“Huh?”
“I‟ve known you all my life, and suddenly you take a

knock on the head, and you‟re babysitting a dweeb like
Alan… and you‟re gay?”

“Keep your voice down, man!” Tucker subsided

somewhat as Jud gathered his thoughts. “I‟ve known I was
different for as long as I can remember, but I didn‟t know a
word for it… not until I was thirteen. You and the other guys
were getting worked up about girls, and I didn‟t get it. I
didn‟t feel it, but I felt something for—” Tucker shook his
head angrily and turned to leave. “Tuck, I thought you were
my friend!”

Tucker froze in the doorway, his back to Jud. “And I

thought you were mine. All this time, dude. Why didn‟t you
tell me?”

“It took me years to come to terms with it myself.” Jud

ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I just didn‟t feel
safe talking about it… not to anyone.” He looked up at
Tucker‟s back, the set of his shoulders. “I‟m sorry… not even
you, Tuck.”

Tucker turned to face Jud. “You didn‟t feel safe? With

me?”

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Jud couldn‟t think of anything to say that would take

the hurt out of his friend‟s eyes, and Tucker turned and left
the room. A few seconds later, Jud heard the front door slam
after him.

No chance of that kiss now.

D

ESPITE

not really having much in common, Jud spent a lot

of time with Larry over the next few weeks. Larry was a good
kid, but Jud couldn‟t completely share his enthusiasm for
musical theater and very often simply ended up staring
blankly as Larry prattled on about some production his
mother had taken him to. At least once a day, the two of
them passed Tucker in the halls, and he met Jud‟s tentative
grin with a silent, sullen glare.

More times than Jud was comfortable with, he saw

Tucker hanging around with Mike and his flying monkeys.
Without fail, there would be a slur hurled in Larry‟s
direction, but never at Jud, which led him to believe Tucker
hadn‟t shared his confession with anyone else. They were
taunting, hoping to get a rise out of Jud, but he never took
the bait, and neither did Larry. They didn‟t get physical
either, and Jud hoped with all his heart it was because of
Tucker‟s influence.

Jud thought if he could just get Larry beyond the

twenty-sixth, maybe everything would turn out for the
better. Larry would live, and Tucker wouldn‟t step onto that
self-destructive path he‟d taken before. No regrets.

O

N

T

HURSDAY

, October

twenty-fifth, Jud was in his living

room, socked feet up on the sofa, flipping through one of his
mother‟s Playgirls, drinking bourbon, and eating a

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| 60

sandwich—all totally reasonable activities for a twenty-eight-
year-old gay man. His parents had left thirty minutes earlier
to walk to a neighbor‟s for dinner, drinks, and cards. So, of
course, Jud took the opportunity to relax as the adult he
truly was.

A storm was kicking up outside. He could hear the wind

whistling, and occasionally a shutter would slam on one of
the windows in the house. It wasn‟t until he was vacuuming
up his sandwich crumbs with a DustBuster in preparation
for his parents‟ return that the lightning and thunder began,
followed shortly by enough rain for an impressive gully-
washer. He had just finished when the lights went out.

“Fuck!” he shouted as he stubbed his toe on the

baseboard. The phone rang, and he fumbled his way into the
kitchen to answer it, put the vacuum into its charging
cradle, and rinse out his glass. “Hello?”

“Hon, it‟s Mom. Are you all right?”
“I‟m fine. We lost power. How about you?”
“Same here, dear. Do you want your father and I to

come home?”

“Mom, I‟m twenty-eight—teen years old,” he corrected as

he fumbled in the kitchen drawer for the flashlight. “I‟ve got
a light, and I‟m going to check all the doors and windows
before turning in. It sounds bad out. You and Dad should
stay at the Corbetts‟ until it eases up. I‟ll be fine.”

“Okay, dear. Sleep tight.”
“Bye, Mom.” Just as Jud hung up the phone, he heard

someone banging on the front door. He approached it
somewhat warily and looked through the peephole, but it
was too dark out to see much more than a large human
shape standing on the front porch.

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“Who is it?” he shouted above the wind, just as two

lightning flashes illuminated Tucker enough to make him
recognizable. Jud hurriedly opened the door, and Tucker
rushed in out of the night and into the darkened house.
“Tuck, what are you doing out in this?” Jud asked as his
friend shivered in front of him, creating a puddle in the
entryway.

“I was almost here when the skies opened up, man.

Sheesh!”

“But… why?”
“I need to talk to you,” Tucker said softly.
Jud shone the light in his friend‟s face, and, seeing the

uncertainty and fear there, he quickly ushered him deeper
into the house. “Come on. Get out of that jacket. You want
some coffee? Bourbon?”

“Huh?”
“I mean… uh, something warm—Jesus! You‟re soaked!”

Jud said as he finally stripped the jacket from Tucker‟s
shoulders. He was so happy to have his friend with him
again that his excitement was making him dizzy. “I don‟t
have anything to fit you, not clean anyway.” Tucker stood
there watching Jud think. “I just finished a load in the
washer, but without power, I can‟t put it in the dryer.”

“You‟re doing laundry?” Tucker asked.
Jud ignored the question, snapping his fingers as an

idea struck him. “I‟m sure Dad has something you can
change into!” He made a dash for the stairs, forgetting he
was taking the light with him. He paused on the fifth step
and turned. “You‟d better come with. I‟m not sure where the
other flashlight is.”

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| 62

With his sneakers making squishing sounds on the

carpet, Tucker slowly followed Jud up the stairs, holding his
jacket and arms out like he was covered in shit instead of
just water.

Once Tucker was in a dry T-shirt and sweatpants

belonging to Jud‟s father, the boys sat on the floor of Jud‟s
bedroom across from each other, the flashlight between them
casting harsh light and creepy shadows.

Jud waited patiently as Tucker rubbed his dripping hair

with a towel.

“So, what was so important?” he asked after he couldn‟t

stare at Tucker any longer. “You haven‟t spoken to me for
weeks.”

Tucker paused, fooling with his hair and sheepishly

looked up at Jud from beneath strands of it and the towel.
“That‟s what I needed to talk to you about, Heart.” He
glanced away from Jud. “I feel bad about the way things
have been between us.”

“Admit it. You miss me, you big idiot.”
Tucker fought not to grin, but he couldn‟t stop himself,

and the light of that smile made Jud‟s chest ache.

“Yeah, I guess.”
“Mike and the boys not as much fun as me, huh?”
“Fuck me! They‟re idiots!”
They shared a laugh over that but soon quieted.
“So things look good with you and Larry,” Tucker said

softly.

“He‟s not gay, man.”

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| 63

“But you are.” Jud nodded. “Whatever. You two are

attached at the hip, lately.”

“I‟m just looking out for the guy. I want to make sure

Mike and his crew leave him be.” Tucker nodded at that but
didn‟t say anything or look at Jud. “Speaking of which, I‟m
guessing you didn‟t tell them what I told you.”

“Oh hell no!” Tucker said, quickly scooting over to sit

beside Jud and rest his back against the bed. “I don‟t want
them hassling you.”

“Thanks.”
“I got your back, Jud. You know that.”
Jud smiled and nodded. “I know,” he said.
They fell silent. Jud could feel Tucker‟s eyes on him. He

felt a tension in the air, not exactly charged ions from the
lightning outside, but a moment before… before…
something, like time was holding its breath. And then Tucker
leaned over and brushed his lips across Jud‟s. Jud started
and instinctually pulled back, but Tucker reached out,
placed his palm against the back of Jud‟s neck, and held
him steady while he moved in again and pressed their lips
together.

Despite the soft pressure and warmth from Tucker‟s

mouth, Jud‟s heart beat so hard he thought he might pass
out. When they parted, Jud searched Tucker‟s eyes.

“Wha… what are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” Tucker explained simply and with a grin.
“But… b-but… I—”
Tucker‟s expression clouded for a moment. “You don‟t

like me that way? When we talked before, you were saying
that while I was chasing girls you had feelings for—”

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| 64

“You.”
“Yeah?” Tucker couldn‟t help but smile.
“Always, Tuck… but….”
“But what?”
“What about Carla?”
Tucker lowered his eyes, letting his hair fall over them.

“She and I fooled around last week,” he began. “It wasn‟t….”
Tucker looked away, stretching out with one foot and
absently wiggling the flashlight with his big toe until it
turned to shine directly on them. He turned back to look in
Jud‟s eyes again. “It wasn‟t what I expected, I guess.”

Jud reached out and stroked his friend‟s handsome

face. How many years had he imagined this happening,
wished it would happen? But it didn‟t. Not really. Not the
first time. In reality, he‟d taken the initiative, received a brief
response, then a freak-out, and then… Tucker acting out,
which had led to… Larry. But we avoided that kiss. Jud
couldn‟t help but wonder what this kiss would do.

Jud held Tucker‟s face in his hands and returned the

kiss, adding a tease of tongue, which Tucker readily
accepted. He tangled his fingers in Tucker‟s hair as his
friend pushed him onto his back. Jud felt the room spinning
as Tucker‟s hands slid beneath his shirt, caressing his chest,
his fingers tweaking his nipples and drawing a moan from
deep within him.

“Oh my God,” Tucker whispered as he pushed Jud‟s

shirt up, baring his chest so he could kiss and nip at his hot
skin.

When Jud felt Tucker‟s hands undoing the zipper of his

jeans, he knew he wasn‟t going to stop this. Closing his eyes

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| 65

and trying to steady his breathing, Jud relished the feel of
Tucker‟s fumbling and then the coolness of his hand against
the heat of Jud‟s length.

“Jud?” his mother called.
“Shit!” Jud hissed as a startled Tucker convulsed, biting

Jud harder than he‟d intended just below his right nipple.
Tucker took his hands off Jud, and the contact was sorely
missed.

“Hey, Son, we‟re back!” Mr. Heart shouted. “Oh gosh,

maybe he‟s asleep, hon.”

“Tucker?” Jud whispered, reaching out to his friend. But

Tucker scooted away from him, his expression going from
sheepish to mortified. Jud knew that expression and lowered
his arm in defeat.

“I… I gotta go!” Tucker was out the door before Jud

could say another word.

“Hey!” Mr. Heart shouted. He was closer. On the steps,

Jud guessed, and apparently Tucker had rushed past him.
Jud tucked himself away and fought to ignore the tightness
in his chest as Mr. Heart appeared in his bedroom doorway
carrying a second flashlight. “Was that Tucker?” he asked.

Jud nodded, absently rubbing at the spot where Tucker

had bitten him.

“Were those my sweats?”

J

UD

didn‟t see Tucker all day in school, and his mind

became twisted with all kinds of nightmare scenarios—
beginning with Tucker explaining to his parents why he‟d
come in from such a massive storm wearing someone else‟s
clothes and barefoot. That one actually made Jud grin, but it

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| 66

was short-lived as fear twisted his thoughts. Was Tucker
joining in on the torment of Larry right this second? Was it
worse than it would have been? Had last night changed
things at all?

After school, Jud waited by the big old oak for Larry. He

caught himself scratching at Tucker‟s bite but quickly
stopped.

“Heart!” That was Tucker‟s voice.
Jud stepped away from the tree and peered around it to

see Tucker running toward him from the other end of the
block. He couldn‟t really read his expression, but if he were
to make a guess, he‟d say—worried. Yeah, that makes sense,
Jud thought bitterly.

Tucker reached him, but he was out of breath. “I‟ve

been looking all over for you,” he panted.

“You want to talk about yesterday, Tuck? Because I

want—”

“No!”
Jud recoiled.
“No, I mean… later.” Doubled over as if fighting a stitch

in his side, he put a hand on Jud‟s shoulder, more to steady
himself than Jud. “We can talk later. Have you seen Larry?”

Jud shook his head in confusion. “Not… not lately. I

saw him first period, but—”

“We need to find him, dude.”
“Why?” Jud asked, feeling panic set in. It‟s the

twenty-

sixth.

“Ted pulled me aside about an hour ago to tell me Mike

had plans for Larry.”

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| 67

“What kind of plans?”
Tucker shook his head. “Don‟t know, but he said you

were in on it.”

“Fuck that!”
“That‟s what I said. We gotta find them.”
Jud looked around him. A flood of students exited the

building, cars fled the parking lot, and buses started arriving
for students.

“There!” Jud shouted, spotting Mike in a throng of

classmates, laughing and high-fiving Ted and Kyle.

Tucker made a beeline for him. “Penholt!”
Mike went rigid, but then broke into a slow sneer. “Hey,

Clinton. How‟s it hanging?” Tucker reached him and grabbed
his collar, twisting it tightly around his neck and nearly
lifting Mike off his feet. “What… what the fuck, man?”

“Where‟s Larry?” Tucker asked just as Jud reached

them.

“Hey, dude, lay off!” Kyle said, stepping forward.
Jud stepped forward also and smacked the boy across

the face with his books. Kyle went down. Ted made a
movement, but Jud stopped him in his tracks with a just a
look.

“Boys! Stop that! Stop it right now!” Nurse Bindy yelled

out her window, and then she disappeared. All of them knew
she was heading their way as fast as her sensible, silent
shoes could carry her.

“What did you do to Larry?” Jud hissed at Mike.
“We just roughed him up a bit when he got to the field.”
“Why would he come to the field?”

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| 68

“He… he thought you wanted to meet him there, Heart,”

Ted offered.

“We had one of his dweeb pals tell him you had

something to show him out there,” Kyle whimpered from
behind his bloody nose as he lay on the grass.

“What did you do?” Tucker demanded again, but Mike

remained silent, clearly not understanding why they cared so
much what happened to Larry.

Just then Nurse Bindy came rushing toward them, her

bosom heaving before her. Jud glanced beyond her and
spotted Larry. He walked slowly, as if he didn‟t know where
he was or where he was going. He had a busted lip, torn
shirt, and his hair looked wet, as did the sheet music he
clutched protectively to his chest.

Jud whirled on Mike. “You gave him a swirly?”
“Something like that,” he snickered.
“Mr. Clinton, release him this instant!” Nurse Bindy

ordered, trying to pry Tucker‟s grip from Mike‟s collar.

Jud ignored her and ran over to Larry. “Larry?”
The boy looked up slowly, but then his eyes grew wide,

and he held up a hand to stop Jud. “No! Stay away from me!”
He dropped the sheet music and began to back away from
Jud. “I thought you were my friend!”

As Jud got closer he could smell… piss? Larry, his hair,

his music were soaked in it. Jud turned to look at Tucker
and the others. “You sick fucks!” Tucker finally released
Mike and took a step toward Jud. When Jud turned back to
Larry, he was startled to find the boy running away from him
and toward the street.

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| 69

“Larry, wait!” Without thinking, he took off after him.

“Larry, they lied to you.”

“No! You lied to me!” He stopped, turned, and pointed at

Jud, an angry, heartbroken, accusing glare in his eyes. “Did
you watch what they did? Were you in there watching and
laughing at me?” Larry backed quickly toward the street. “I
thought you were my friend! Look what they did!” Larry
screeched, the agony and betrayal he felt pouring from his
very core. He turned and ran. Jud heard the bus more than
saw it, and he rushed forward.

No. The kiss was different. It changed things. I felt it.
Time slowed to a crawl as Jud reached Larry, gripped

his shoulders, spun him around to face him, and then
shoved him back the way they‟d come and into Tucker‟s
arms. Jud heard the brakes and a squeal of tires, then he
felt the impact and hit the ground. His skull thunked
sickeningly on the asphalt.

Nurse Bindy‟s scream cut through the air as Jud‟s eyes

closed.

H

E DIDN

‟

T

lose consciousness, but when he opened his eyes

the screaming continued—no, that‟s a siren, Jud thought as
a fire truck raced by the park. He found himself looking up
into a blue sky instead of a canopy of colorful autumn trees.

“Shit, babe. Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
“He says that a lot,” a familiar old voice offered.
Tucker dropped his briefcase on the ground, knelt

beside Jud, and caressed his face. “That ball hit you awfully

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| 70

hard, Judson,” he said as Jud gazed up into his bright green
eyes.

“Tuck?”
“Who else? We were meeting for lunch on our bench,

remember?”

Jud couldn‟t speak as he stared into Tucker‟s concerned

face. The man had a head full of wavy, sand-colored hair and
looked stunning in a suit and camel hair coat—nothing like
the tattooed inmate he‟d spoken with just days before.

Jud gripped Tucker‟s arm forcefully and tried to pull

himself up.

“No, babe. You stay down until we get you looked at.”
“No… no, I have to get up,” Jud growled. “I can‟t

breathe.” He pulled himself to his feet and released Tucker to
take in his surroundings. A couple of soccer players, Ham, a
variety of park-goers, and one older gentleman with white
hair stood by watching the drama unfold. “You.”

“Yep. Me,” Topher said with a smile. “How you feeling,

son?”

“I… I… itch?” Jud ignored the puzzled silence that

followed his question and mindlessly reached to his chest,
just below his right nipple, and scratched. “I—”

Suddenly, he felt dizzy, his mind filling, swamped by a

rush of new memories. He clutched his head and cried out,
but Tucker was at his side, supporting him.

“Come on, babe. Down we go,” he whispered as they

crumpled to the ground together. “I‟m here.”

Jud clung to Tucker as he writhed, fighting to catch his

breath. It all came flooding in: their first kiss, stolen
moments in the locker room showers, going to the movies,
learning of Carla‟s pregnancy, the many subsequent

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| 71

arguments and tears, the breakup, graduation, heading off
to different colleges, Tucker‟s marriage, the birth of his
daughter, reconnecting, the divorce, and then the two of
them starting their professional lives together in their old
hometown—Jud at the paper and Tucker at Lynburg
Engineering.

Ham had his cell out. “Should I call someone?” he

asked, looking on with worried eyes. “He was rushing out to
meet you, Tuck, and I‟m afraid I distracted him. That ball did
hit him pretty hard.”

Jud‟s breathing eased as the rush of information

slowed. He opened his eyes again and looked up into
Tucker‟s frightened face. Jud grinned. “I‟m okay, Tuck. Just
a bit dizzy.” Jud continued to clutch at Tucker‟s shirt. My
God, you smell good, Jud thought, turning his face into
Tucker‟s chest and inhaling deeply.

“We‟re going to the hospital,” Tucker said.
“No!”
“Jud—”
“I think he‟ll be fine now, son,” Topher interrupted,

reassuringly gazing into Tucker‟s eyes. “But maybe you
ought to take him home?”

Tucker nodded. “Good idea.” They got to their feet, and

Tucker helped Jud to his car, sat him in the front seat, and
buckled him in. “There you go.” A quick caress of Jud‟s face
and a kiss to his lips had him smiling like an idiot as Tucker
dashed around to the driver‟s side.

Jud glanced back into the park and shared a smile with

Topher just as his memory of the man began fading,
becoming blurry and soft around the edges—much like his
memories of his life before that soccer ball to the head. Jud

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| 72

placed his palm against the passenger window as if about to
question the old man, but reflected sunlight from a passing
car blinded him briefly, and when Jud could see again, the
man was gone.

“Call me later,” Ham shouted. “Let me know how he‟s

doing, okay?”

“You bet,” Tucker said, giving their friend a quick wave

before sliding behind the wheel.

Inside the car Jud remained silent until they had pulled

away and were heading home, then he asked, “We‟ve been
together—officially together—for four years, right?” Tucker
tossed him a worried glance, but Jud smiled calmly. “I‟m all
right, Tuck. Just thinking out loud.”

“Listen, let‟s just spend the night alone at home. Carla‟s

mother has Rosie for the night. We can skip the reunion.”

“Reunion,” Jud whispered in wonderment, his hand

rising unconsciously again to scratch at his chest.

“Jud?”
“No, Tuck. Let‟s go. I want to go.” Jud fought to keep the

whine out of his voice.

Tucker patted his knee as they turned onto their street.

“Let‟s just see how you feel later, okay?”

Jud nodded as he looked at Tucker and let his new

memories wash over him. I recognize all this, he thought. I
know the way home. He remembered the first time they‟d
made love, for real, as a committed couple pledging their
lives to each other. He remembered painting their house,
mowing the lawn, and the two of them, as a comical, if
formidable team, chasing a bat out of the attic. Jud chuckled
to himself.

“What‟s so funny?”

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| 73

“I‟m just happy, Tuck.” Jud reached out and took

Tucker‟s hand, hoping with all his might that he wouldn‟t
wake up from this. He saw concern lingering in Tucker‟s
eyes.

“You sure you just don‟t want to stay in?” his partner

asked.

Jud shook his head. “It‟s our ten-year reunion. I want to

see how everyone turned out. I especially want to find out
what happened to Larry Alan.”

Tucker laughed. “Ah-ha! Now I get it.”
“Huh?”
“You heard the rumor that our hometown celebrity was

coming tonight, and you‟re dying for an autograph.”

Jud searched the jumble of new memories in his brain,

but couldn‟t alight on one about Larry. “Huh?”

“Larry and his wife suspended rehearsals for their latest

Broadway production just to attend the reunion. It was
announced today on the Noon Zoo at WKEX.”

Jud couldn‟t keep the grin off his face as he stared at

Tucker. “Do you think he‟ll remember us?”

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About the Author

D

AWN

K

IMBERLY

J

OHNSON

is a graduate of Marshall

University in Huntington, West Virginia, where she grew up
and still lives. For eight years she worked as a copy editor at
a daily newspaper before heading west to Oregon in search of
adventure. After eight years there, five of them good, she
returned home where she is trying to regain her health and
still hoping for the best.

Visit her LiveJournal at

http://dawnkj63.livejournal.com/

You can contact her at

[e-mail]

.

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Copyright

What Happened to Larry Alan? ©Copyright Dawn Kimberly Johnson, 2011

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
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Cover Art by Catt Ford

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Released in the United States of America
June 2011

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-043-1