In Skater's Time

Chapter 11

Hard Time

After finally being noticed by Ace and Dart, we were on our way inside the mall to get drinks at the food court. I wouldn't have gone, except the guy with them, Free, was the most interesting guy I'd seen in a while. I'd take a chance, worried about pissing off a guy like Ace, but too horny to worry too much. Being last in line, no one noticed I broke away from the group.

I went off to the lemonade stand, while the three of them got in line for soda. I didn't have enough money to buy them soda. Ace seemed like the kind of guy who might stick the new kid with the tab. I was taking no chances.

I sat down with them at a table for four. It was a perfect fit.

“You've been in jail, Free?” I asked. “How do you keep so tan?”

Dart laughed.

“Black's Beach. He goes there to get his dick sucked.”

“Black's Beach?” I asked.

“It's a nude beach,” Ace said. “Free likes the boys that go there.”

“Once I been locked up, I can't get enough,” Free said. “I can go out for a week or two, and then it gets hard to do time.”

“It gets hard all the time,” Ace said.

Dart laughed.

Freebee smiled.

“Where do you go to get your dick sucked, Zane,” Ace asked casually.

I needed to be careful with Ace. I'd answer his pointed questions by diverting them.

“I don't need to go anywhere,” I said. “I suck my own. It's always handy.”

Free laughed. He got the joke.

“I knew a guy in middle school” Ace said, moving right along. “He could suck his own dick. Damnedest thing I ever saw. He'd let guys watch for a buck. Darrel was tall and skinny. His dick was long and thin. He could get half of it in his mouth on a good day, but he had to get all upside down to pull it off. Most guys envied him his ability to take care of a problem most of them could only take in hand. The rumor got around at school, but Darrel didn't mind. It brought in new business, and the people who didn't know what to make of it, didn't hold it against Darrel. I halfway expected him to do it at the school's talent show. He never did.””

Ace drank from his soda. Dart smiled, as he surveyed the food court, and I sat wondering how to let Free know that he had my attention, and he didn't need to do tricks for me. Now that I'd found him, how did I let him know what was on my mind.

I remembered a test we took in school, when I was way young. You had this grouping of four or five items, and you were to pick one that didn't belong with the others. I'm easy. I don't mind who goes with whom, but it applied here.

I remembered one grouping. It was a grandfather clock, a watch, an alarm clock, and a chicken. That's how I saw Free. He didn't belong with these two. Free had class, and he paid no attention to the barbs, preferring to spent his time doing other things, besides reacting to the insults being issued. He had a story, y, and I wanted to hear it.

I was stuck again. How did I let a guy like Free know, I was available. The answer came to me, as I gazed into Free's face. Free's knee began a slow trip down my thigh, until his bare knew was against my bare flesh. His knee stopped moving. The expression on his face never changed. He looked about like nothing was going on under the table.

I let my free hand settle into my lap, and then let it slide onto the inside of Fee's leg. This got his eyes locking on my eyes. His eyes were a very light green. His smile was straight out of, I like you too land. Ever so slowly he put his hand on my hand, turning his face elsewhere.

Now what did we do?

Well, I'd been trying to meet guys. These were guys, and Freebee's leg stayed planted against mine. The last thing I needed was to let Ace and Dart see Free and me, skating off into the sunset together. I was no fool, and from what John told me, I knew better than to let Ace and Dart know my business.

I'd stayed faithful to Gordo for months, because I mt no one else who was interest in me. I was pretty sure I knew someone else now. The more I looked at Freebee, the better he looked.

Free was careful not to let his eyes settle on my face, but he definitely was sending me messages. As I sat there, trying to look natural, Free's hand began to move up the inside of my thing.

He wasn't looking to squeeze the peaches. He had no trouble finding what he wanted to squeeze, and he looked right at my face when he squeezed. I'd gotten excited by his knee touching my leg, and when he squeezed, I nearly gushed a moan into Ace's face. I'd been waiting for this moment for next to forever, but the suddenness of the attention I got, had me tiptoeing along the razor's edge of self-control.

Free and I looked away at the same instant, and he freed up the hold he had on me, but he'd gotten my attention, and as soon as I could think of an excuse, I was making an exit, hoping Free would then make his, so we could meet up, where I didn't know, but it had to be somewhere, where I could get my lips on his, without it causing trouble.

Free's head turned away, as if he was just sitting there, minding his own business, while he minded mine for only a few seconds. He too, knew that it wasn't a good idea to advertise what was on his mind. I'd known him for ten minutes, and he had become the boy of my dreams.

I knew love shouldn't be that way, but what way was it supposed to be. I wanted to be with someone, who wanted to be with me. How it happened, really wasn't all the important, as long as it happened.

The longer I sat in the food court, the more uncomfortable I became. I wanted to leave with Free, but we had Dart and Ace sitting with us. Excusing ourselves wasn't an option. I didn't want to give Ace the impression that something was happening between Free and me.

“What were you locked up for, Free?” I asked, after a short silence.

“People will tell you, I've got sticky fingers. When I get hungry enough, stuff just jumps into my pocket. Stuff I can eat, and if I get caught, I get to go downtown to eat. It's a win, win situation. I'd rather be free, but I don't like going too long without food.”

“They have food kitchens back home. You can get a free meal a couple of times a day,” I said.

“We're pretty far out, and no one does that out here. To get to where they do that, you need to take the trolley. If I can't afford food, I sure can't afford the trolley,” Freebee said. “But the police are friendly enough to drive me to town.”

I wanted to ask him why he didn't go home to eat, but that opened doors that it was better off left closed. Asking someone about their home life wasn't how you made friends and influenced people. I figured Freebee would tell me what he wanted me to know.

Freebee sat close to Ace's right shoulder who didn't have much to say. Dart eyes moved off Ace, as he caught sight of something that caught his interest, which drew my eyes to a younger boy no one could miss. The boy had on yellow spandex and showed off a lean boyish body. He had on a yellow and bronze shirt that fit his lean body, leaving nothing to the imagination, as he blinked his baby blues, tossing back his long blond hair.

Every eye in the food court, was on him now. He hadn't simply walked in. He'd made an entrance.

I was sure, this was the prototype California boy, as he joined the teen army taking their place in California culture. While most boys his age were shy and not certain of themselves, the yellow boy was poised and ready to take his place among the stars, who shined for everyone.

I took my eyes off him for only a second, to see every eye in the food court on the latest arrival. He wiggled his way behind Ace, putting his round butt in easy viewing, on his way to get what what it was he came for.

“Damn,” Dart said, “is that a bit too much, or what?”

The color of his eyes reminded me of the boy in Broadbranch Park, and his hair wasn't blond, it looked golden. His face was perfectly tan.

“He's going to be a looker,” Free said, looking over his shoulder at the youngster, as he now leaning on the counter at Burger Shack, and three counter girls couldn't wait to speak to him.

“Look at those girls fuss over him, and he's queer as a three dollar bill,” Ace advised anyone within earshot.

That's when Ace surprised me.

“That boy is going to be a star, and he knows it. One day you'll be dying to get his autograph, Dart,” Ace revealed, being uncharacteristically kind.

“What ever it is, he has it,” Free said.

It was a case of everyone seeing the same thing in the same instant.

It took a few minute for him to get what he wanted, and he started working his way back to his table full of friends with enough food for everyone. Odds were, he paid little or nothing for the tray full of food.

“His friends are smart sending him for the food,” Freebee said. “They'll no doubt get their money's worth.”

“And you can bet they fight over which one gets to suck his dick,” Ace said.

Ace was a cynic. I saw the boy as being as close to perfection as you came. I watched him go to the counter and return with a ton of food. Looking around at the evening dinner crowd, Since we got there, the place had filled considerably.

In the land of milk and honey, in the land of beauty, the land of excess, few people caught almost everyone's attention at the same time.

Those who didn't look at the golden boy were elbowed by their companion, so they didn't miss the unusual beauty nearby.

Being that beautiful could be a curse, I thought. Who'd approach such a magnificent work of perfection. The golden boy was to be admired, never touched. What do you have to look forward to, when you are that beautiful? If he learns to depend on his looks to get what he wants, what happens once he ages?

He'll slowly age out of his beauty. People will say, 'remember when he was gorgeous?'

*****

“I need to piss like a race horse,” Ace said, standing up, and taking his board with him toward the hall where the men's room was.

“Come on,” Freebee said, taking my hand in his, and his skateboard in the other hand.

I grabbed mine as Dart went the other way, and we dodged out the double doors, twenty-five feet away. I felt a little odd, letting Freebee guide me away by holding my hand. It seemed not to phase him that I was a boy.

My parents knew my hours were unpredictable, because I'd begun to work. If I didn't show up for dinner, I'd find a plate in the fridge, when I got home. More evenings than not, my father stopped at Hitchcock's on his way home, and if I was there, he took me home with him, ordering enough takeout to feed us, and there were leftovers for later.

With both my mother and father working and now me, we only saw each other at dinner. I wasn't doing much running around, because I was still learning my job, and the sooner I learned everything, the easier my job would be, but I warned my parents that I had friends, and if I wasn't at Hitchcock's, and I wasn't at home, I'd be out with my buds, and tonight I would be out with Free.

We stopped at the street that ran down beside the mall. What a novel approach! After skating with Gordo, I was happy to be with someone who obeyed the laws, some times anyway. It was a good thing to do for safety's sake,

I looked at Freebee's hand in mine. I looked at his face in the evening light.

“I figured you were simpatico. You let me rub my leg against yours. Did I read you wrong?” Freebee asked, not letting go of my hand.

“Oh, no, you read me perfectly. It's just that we're in public. I'm not accustomed holding hands with a guy out where people can see.”

“You'd be surprised how few people notice a thing like that. When they see two guys holding hands, they don't know what they're seeing,” Free said. “People are mostly wrapped up in their own lives. The ones who have a lot of time to look for people who don't conform, don't have lives. They don't matter, because the noise they makes, no one listens to.”

I'd never held hands with any guy. Even with Gordo, he skated so fast, if I would have tried to hold his hand, he’d yank it off. Doing it outside, where people could see, wasn't something gay guys did, where I was from. It invited trouble if you did.

“Z, once you're in California for a while, you'll see so much weird stuff, believe me when I say, no one notices a couple of dudes holding hands,” he said.

“I've been here for three months, and no one has wanted to hold my hand before,” I said.

“Well, I won't let go, unless you tell me to. Yours is about the nicest hand I've held in a long time,” Freebee said.

“Well, thank you,” I said. “It's a first for me, but I like it.”

“Do you want to come with me. I got a place. It's private. What I want to do with you will require privacy,” he said.

“I don't get it. What's the deal with Ace? Why do you guys hang around him? You certainly can do better than Ace,” I said.

“Why do you think we're out here, and he's in there. A little of Ace goes a long way. He's a little crazy. I've never heard anyone talk to Ace the way you did. I thought I'd swallow my tongue, trying to keep from laughing. You had a comeback for every stupid question he asked you,” Freebee said. “And, by the way, I've been locked up twice. Both times for stealing food. I work for the second guy who had me locked up. He dropped the charges, once he heard my story. He told me to come about when I needed something to eat, and he'd see I got fed, and if I wanted to work it off, to keep us even, he'd let me do odd jobs.”

“Pretty nice guy,” I said.

“He was a skater. He knew how it was on the street. You'll find that out here. You wrong people, and a lot of times, they'll try to help you, if they can.”

The light changed and we ran across the street, holding hands, and carrying our boards. It would have been awkward, trying to skate and hold hands.

We ended up going into the woods a little ways from the mall. It was still light enough for us to see the small path. Off to the right was a small opening, maybe a hundred yards from the road. There were blankets and a pillow piled up.

Freebee let go of my hand, and he spread a blanket out. He handed me the pillow and said, go ahead, sit down. I looked down at the blanket, and it was clean and not that old. I sat down, leaning back on the pillow. When I looked at Free, he was naked. I could see his white teeth, as he smiled at me. He was slim, but not as skinny as I thought. He had a nice body, and his erection stood straight out, as he looked at me. I suspected he was waiting for me to join him in the nude, and in a minute I did.

Free introduced me to something else I'd had little practice in perfecting. He put his lips on mine, pulled my body against his, and we shared the longest, most passionate kiss I'd ever had. Its intensity made me dizzy.

The warmth of his body was delicious, and he slipped his dick up, until it rested on my belly. It was like steaming hot flesh, and I felt him smear traces of hot liquid on my stomach, as his kisses grew in passion. His arms reached around me, so his hands could cup my ass cheeks. His fingers felt the hot flesh.

Free tasted wonderful. He smelled fresh, and wild, and intoxicating. I felt his his arms, his chest, his thighs, and I grabbed the hot flesh that was still dripping the sticky liquid onto my stomach.

When I used the tacky fluid to stimulate his totally fat dick, he repulsed, standing a foot away, with his iron rod pointed at me. I took hold of it again.

“Better ease up on that, hot stuff. I'm so close to cumming, I need to slow down a little. I don't want to rush this. You're too nice for me to want to end this evening any sooner than we must,” Free told me.

I kiss his chest and his nipples. I nibbled one, and he moaned a long, slow, guttural sound that made me tingle. Our body had a meeting of the minds, and we kissed, and touched, and moved in slow motions.

As we kissed, the passion increased, and our bodies mingled in a way my body had never mingled with another before. It wasn't hurried or frantic. This was the other side of how you could be with someone.

This had to be what making love was all about. I'd been so busy wanting to find a way to have sex more often, I hadn't contemplated there was more to sex than the sex act, and there was more to love than sex. Free knew that too, and he intended to show me everything I'd allow him to show me. Free had been around. He knew what to do, and how to do it.

I liked Gordo. I didn't have much choice. He was all there was. While I knew we'd shared the basic element in sex, it left me feeling empty. It left me feeling a little dirty. Watching him with Pat had served to reenforce that feeling. This wasn't what songs were written about and movies were made about. This was animal instinct, and not at its best.

Being with Free allowed me to see the entire picture. The frantic Gordo gave me a chaotic view of of his feelings, without emotion. Free was loving, caring, and as gentle as a boy could be.

We took a break from kissing, to catch our breath. The ground under the blanket was surprisingly soft. It was a clear night, and stars and moon shined bright. The cleared spot had no trees near enough to block the heavens above. Once again we held hands, sharing the view, and needing to say nothing. Being there with Free, said it all.

Until then, I'd only had words and facial expressions to communicate what I was feeling, but touch came into play. Intimacy, something I hadn't known until then, was a language all its own. Not being able to get close enough to Free was a first for me. I wanted to be so close that we were one. I wanted to be one with Free, and he seemed to share the calm and sensitivity of the moment.

As I rolled over to snuggle closer, his arms engulfed me me. His skin was warm and smooth. His body was tight and without anything extra, but what he had fit him perfectly. Free suited me fine, and when he encouraged me into him, I willingly went. The confines of Free's inner most being, were voluptuously warm, soft, and inviting. It was like finding that most secret place.

It's what I had it in mind to do to Gordo, but he was never calm enough for me to make such an overture. It was something that required a delicate and tender touch. This was a delicious dance of love.

Free was totally into being joined together. Our lips met with an intensity that drove us beyond pleasure, in this exploration of our love. How could I be so comfortable with a boy I'd known for a few hours? How was it we were doing the most intimate thing I'd ever contemplated doing, and I had no doubt that it was the best thing I'd ever done. If I had a second's doubt, Free's moaning and free flowing passion convinced me that I took him about as high and far as he'd ever been, and I had gone with him in love making that went on and on. I couldn't get enough of Free.

We were welded together. We were one. We allowed the cool night air to overcome us. It dried our sweat. As we held each other, unable to let go, we were soon working our bodies into a repeat performance, doing it all over again, as the stars came out and the moon stood straight above out heads as we watched.

It was the most remarkable night of my life, and we rolled, and kissed, and clung to each other, even after another go round. Free worked himself into a sitting position, and I expected something marvelous would spring forth from his bag of tricks. Looking down on my face, I had more access to Free than ever.

Slowly sliding down on my love stick, he let loose with one amazing spewing of fluid I'd ever seen. It went on my face, in my hair, on my chest, as he moaned, collapsing, but still pumping away to spend the final drop. He collapsed on top of me, as I felt myself slip away from the confines of his magic body.

It was glorious.

Free gave more to me that evening, than anyone ever had. I didn't want to leave his loving arms. He didn't want me to leave him or his private space, and I could have stayed with him riding my excitement all night, but life had a way of putting an end to the greatest night of my life, but not before more kissing, more gentle caresses, and a plan for where we'd meet tomorrow.

Was this what love was? Would we meet and repeat what we'd already repeated, and then do it all over again, or would we not be as passionate as we were the night before.

I didn't dare think it.

I refused to doubt it.

I loved Free, and he'd loved me.

* * * * *

I almost blew off work for the first time, once I woke up the next day. My mind was filled with Free. I couldn't wait to see him again, touch him, smell him, and hear his sweet voice, but I remembered what Mr. Hitchcock told me, the day he hired me. Guys signed on to do the job, and in two or three weeks they stop coming to work. He'd given me a chance; I wouldn't let him down.

Then there was my father to contend with. He woke me for work before he left the house. If Mr. Hitchcock told dad that I laid out of work, my father would tell me at the next dinner, “You told the man you wanted a job. That's like a promise. You gave him your word: if he hired you, you could do the job. What's your word worth, Zane?'

My father didn't raise his voice. He didn't show anger or frustration, when his life was letting him down. He treated me like I had a mind and will of my own, and he expected me to use them to better myself. He didn't care what I did, and he did see a future in computers, but my future was in my hands. I'd go in the direction I decided on. That didn't mean he wouldn't offer me his opinion.

I told Free I had to work until three, after the last truck was unloaded. Mr. Hitchcock's daughter came in to work the counter then, and he could do shelves and move any boxes of dry goods himself. He hadn't put me on a permanent schedule yet, and besides unloading the trucks, he took care of the rest, as he schooled me on where things went, and other things he wanted me to do.

“Mr. Hitchcock, I need to get off around three,” I said, thinking it took me maybe five minutes to skate to the mall.

“Hot date, Z?” he asked.

“Something like that. I'll do the last truck at two-thirty, and then I'm out of here,” I said.

“Thanks for letting me know. You've been doing a fine job, Z. I'm happy with our arrangement,” he said, giving me room to say something if I liked.

“Me, too,” I said, going back to get my apron on.

All I could think about was Free. I knew, I didn't know him, but we'd done more than I'd done with anyone, and he was as gentle as a lamb. He seemed to be as passionate as I was, if not more so. I saw no reason not to do it all again.

By ten I had my mind on my work, and I only thought about Free every other minute. I could picture him in my mind. He was always smiling, when I did. I skipped lunch to put up the rest of the stock from yesterday's deliveries.

Just before three, I hung up my apron, said good by to Mr. Hitchcock and Brenda, and I skated to the patch of lawn on the far side of the mall. Two other boys were there, but no Free. I'd told him sometime after three, so I wouldn't panic yet, but maybe it wasn't as much fun for him, as it was for me.

I sat down a few feet from two boys, who were already on the patch of lawn just past the mall. They were close to my age. They were engaged in a heated conversation, paying no attention to me. I was looking around for Free, but he wasn't in sight yet. I planned to stay there.

Where was Free?

I told him I'd be here shortly after three.

Slowly, as I sat listening to the boys talking too loudly, a feeling of being alone again, came over me. Not being alone had been the most wonderful feeling of my life. I'd not been alone the entire time I was with Free.

He had made me feel like I was wanted. He made me feel loved, and now I waited, hoping he'd meet me, and then I'd know, I was no longer alone in the world.

Chapter 12

Waiting

I'd left work just before three, and I skated straight to the patch of lawn, just beyond the mall. Three boys already had the patch of grass staked out, and once again, I sat on the curb, a few feet away.

As I anxiously waited to see if I had been stood up, I got myself noticed.

“You're that guy with a letter for a name,” the boy closest to me said, turning his head to look at me.

I thought I recognized him.

“My name is Zane. My friends call me Z,” I said,

“Cool,” he said. “I'm Jones, and this is Kenny and Toad.”

Kenny gave me a half wave, looking around his friend to make eye contact. I waved back.

“You waiting for someone? You look like you're waiting for someone,” Jones said.

“Free!” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Freebee! He's cool,” Kenny said. “You moved here from back east, I hear. I bet this is way different from that.”

Maybe I wasn't as invisible as I thought I'd been. Word definitely was getting around, even when most guys didn't talk to me, but did I act any differently around new guys? I was sad to say I didn't. Now I knew what that was like from the other side. Now, I faced the prospect of having the night of my life, and then, getting stood up. It had been so perfect. I should know better than to get my hopes up. California was proving to be very disappointing. I could go back home.

“He skated by a few minutes before you showed up,” Jones said. “He said ‘hi,’ but he didn't stop. He'll probably be back.”

I was delighted to hear that. Free hadn't blown me off. If he did that, I'd have reevaluate last night, and I didn't want to do that.

“I was at work. I told him I'd be here around three,” I said.

Jones and Kenny stood up, dropping their boards on the sidewalk.

“See you, Z,” Jones said.

“See yeah,” Kenny said.

They were fifteen, maybe sixteen, still having the lanky look most boys sported, until they began to add a bit of weight, which moved them closer to looking like men, but not so close they'd started working on a tougher persona.

Toad sat put, leaning back on his elbows. He smiled. I smiled. He was in the same age range, but his chest was fuller, and his thighs were thick with muscle and black hair.

“I don't bite,” Toad said in a pleasant enough voice.

I stood up and I sat down next to him.

“Nice day,” I said.

“I collect frogs. Hence the name Toad,” he said, before I asked.

“Living frogs, or dead frogs?” I asked.

He laughed.

“Living. Frogs are amphibians. They are valuable in telling us about our environment. I find them far more interesting than butterflies or bees.”

“Butterflies and bees?” I asked.

“Other species that are leading indicators of what's going on in the environment. You keep your eye on them for changes in behavior, but they're far more delicate than frogs. I tried to keep bees, when I was a kid,” he said.

“What happened?” I asked.

He smiled broadly.

“I got stung. I was a a kid,” he said, still looking a lot like a kid.

“Oh!” I said.

“My name is Clark Cassidy. I got to go. Free will be back. He ran around with my brother in high school. Free is one of the good guys, in case you're interested. He treated me like I was a real person and not just a kid. You'll see. He'll be back,” Toad said, dropping his board and moving away from me.

I was alone on the patch of grass on the far side of the mall, but not for long.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Free said, as he skated up five minutes later.

He handed me a lemonade. He was holding a drink of his own.

“Not bad stuff. I think it's real lemonade,” Free said. “How are you?”

“I'm great now. You shouldn't be buying me stuff, Free,” I said, sipping from the straw he'd added to my drink.

“I shouldn't. After the fantastic time you showed me last night? It's the least I could do, hot stuff. I can't remember the last time I came twice in ten minutes, and it wasn't just an ordinary coming,” he said, smiling broadly. “I was afraid you'd blow me off for someone new.”

“You know how many guys I've done that with, Free?” I asked.

“I bet plenty. You've got talent in that department. I'm usually done, after one, and had you kept going, I might have gone for three.”

“You, Mr. Free, are my first. In fact, I can say without hesitation, you're the first guy to make love to me.”

“I thought you and Gordo had a thing going,” Free said. “I was a little reluctant to take up with you, but your smooth style, when you put Ace down, had me reconsidering. You're a firecracker, Z, and you light my fire,” he said. “I've been so busy trying to survive, my fire had gone out.”

“Free, you're the hottest guy I've met. Since I've been here, I've looked for companions, and Gordo was the only guy to give me the time of day and not so much lately. He's like the wind, you know. He comes and goes. We aren't involved, but I did do a thing with him. Just so you know.”

“I'd heard. I went to school with Gordo. He's immature; acts and looks like a sixteen-year-old. I'm not putting him down. I had no picnic growing up, but Gordo had a nightmare of a childhood. I think he ran away when he was twelve. His father, career military, was a nasty drunk, from the story I heard. His mother lied to the authorities, saying Gordo was a clumsy klutz of a boy, and he broke all those bones on his own. I'm just saying. Gordo is lucky he lived through it.”

Free stopped talking, thinking he'd said too much, sipping soda, and looking down the street toward where Toad skated.

“Toad was here. He gave you quite the endorsement. I was afraid you blew me off. Toad said that you wouldn't do that. He said you're a nice guy,” I said.

“Yeah, I've got to renew his promotional services soon. I ran around with his older brother. He was in school with me. Toad's maybe fifteen. Gable is nineteen. We were close, but he went into the air force after he graduated. I've thought about the service as my ticket out of here, but I'm not ready yet.”

“Anyway, Toad thinks you're cool. Gable?”

“Old movie star. His mother loved the movie Gone With The Wind. Clark Gable starred in it, and her two sons are Gable, followed by Clark,” Free said.

“I've seen that movie. Clark Gable is not all that,” I said. “I be if he came along today, he couldn't get a job selling tickets to a movie,” I said.

Free laughed, letting his hand move on top of mine.

“I want to rip your clothes off and make love to you right here.”

“You that hungry, you want to go back to jail. I can buy you lunch,” I said.

“Whatever you’ve got, Z, I'm hooked on it. I jacked off after you left last night. I haven't been this horny in months. Maybe for a year,” he said.

“I should make it home for dinner tonight, but that isn't until six,” I said.

“That'll be enough time to get our engines warmed up,” Free said. “And after dinner?”

I giggled.

“I'll tell them I'm going out,” I said. “They worry I don't go out enough.”

Free's hand squeezed mine. Our heads turned, and I was looking deeply into his beautiful green eyes. I didn't care who saw us. I wouldn't rip his clothes off, but I wanted to. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to validate our love in front of God and everybody.

Free was the real deal, and if I had to wait three or four months to find him, he was worth the wait. I couldn't wait to get to our special place in the woods.

* * * * *

I'd calmed down. Free and I sat holding hands, sipping our sodas, and feeling the warmth of the late summer sun.

“Does everyone know everything about everyone in this place?” I asked.

“Gordo runs his mouth more than a little, Z. The way he tells it, you two are tight, which is hard to believe, because Gordo is a bit of a flake,” Free said.

“He's the first guy to show an interest in me,” I said. “I found out about the flake part, after we'd tried to hook up a couple of times. It was more like trying to wrestle a greased pig.”

“Yeah, that would be Gordo. He's never grown up, and he has no idea what it is he's after. He moves too fast to hold onto anything good,” Free said. “That's the truth. I'm the first guy you did that to?”

“Uh huh, and I can honestly say, I've never enjoyed myself more. I thought about you all day.”

“Me too, thinking about you,” Free said. “Something really nice happened to me last night. I really like you, Z. I'd like to go back and do it all over again.”

“In the daylight this time?” I asked.

“Day time, night time, Saturdays, too,” Free said, turning his head to look me in the eye as he spoke.

“Let's go,” I said, and we went.

It was warm, and I sweat a little, after an hour or so of making love to Free. We'd followed a similar script to last night’s passion play. This time I got to see him exploding, achieving lift off, and doing it all over again, but not as swiftly the second time.

We lay in each other's arms, as the sun went from shining on our love nest, to moving behind the trees, allowing us to cool down. If last night was the most magnificent thing I'd ever experienced, today's was more magnificent. Seeing him, his face, his most personal thing he could share with anyone, made it better.

With our arms wrapped around one another, and with no destination in mind, this time, we made out. I'd made out so well the last two days, it was hard to believe that making out was as sweet as the sweetest times got.

Once it had cooled, our bodies were exactly the right temperature for cuddling, and then, we made out some more. I'd never been with anyone, the way I was with Free. It's all I needed, and I couldn't have asked for more. Then, my stomach began to growl. I hadn't had lunch, and breakfast was a piece of toast on the run. I was running down fast.

The sweat dried. The shady spot became a little cooler, and we opted to get back into our clothes. We were done there for a time, but even though the sun still shone brightly, when we emerged from the woods, I saw stars in my eyes.

My search, the one with me having no clue what it was I was looking for, had ended with Free. I knew, a couple of love making sessions didn't a lover make, but I knew what did make a lover. While I'd stay with Free forever, if I could, I knew there was a ton of living to be done between now and forever, and the only thing I knew about Free. He was magnificent. If you're going to make love to someone, that's a good place to start.

“Let's go get something to eat,” I said, having worked up an appetite.

“Sweet Z, I'm afraid you've caught me a little short. I can go work for Mr. Ramsey for a couple of hours, and that'll earn me the price of a meal.”

“My treat,” I said. “I'm a working stiff, and you bought me the lemonade, remember?”

“A lemonade does not a meal make. That took the last of my change,” he said.

“I want to feed you. I want to watch those sensuous lips bite into something they'll savor. I want you to be satisfied. I don't want you to be hungry,” I said.

“How can I not be satisfied, after being with you the last two hours. I'm so satisfied, I might never eat again,” he said.

“What do you like?” I asked.

“I like you, but we shouldn't wear out a good thing. A couple of times a day should be enough,” he said.

“Well, we've done it once,” I said. “We'll go eat, and go back and do it again,” I said.

“That's an offer I am not capable of refusing. Just this once, you can pay for our meal. I don't freeload on my friends, Z. I won't freeload on you. I do have some self respect left. I'll go work for Mr. Ramsey tomorrow. He always has something for me to do.”

We ate tacos and burritos. I hadn't eaten Mexican food before. It had great flavors that put a glow in my mouth. There weren't that many Mexican restaurants, back home, and tasting it for the first time, made it an exceptional meal. I even added a little hot sauce, to see what that was like.

It was hot, but not unpleasant. I was sure it was food I'd grow to love, now that I'd discovered it.

“You wanted to go home for dinner, and now we've had dinner,” Free said.

“Initially, they'll think I'm working late, if my father didn't stop at Hitchcock's on his way home from work. It's not a big deal, but they order for three, which includes me,” I said.

“Most food stays fresh in the fridge,” Free said.

“Yes, it does, and they'll save a plate for me. They keep telling me that I needed to get out more, to make some friends. They won't be worried. They might even be happy I had somewhere to be.”

“Your parents sound like good people?” Free said with a hint of envy.

“They are. I'm lucky that way. Life is no picnic, but I'm blessed with the kind of parents most kids would gladly take,” I said.

I wanted to lean over and kiss him so badly. He had luscious lips, and mine were covered in hot sauce, but we were in the food court..

* * * * *

I was sure it was very late, when I woke up beside Free. It was chilly, and I put on my clothes, and I covered him with the blanket, before finding the path that would take me back to the street. Luckily the moon was overhead, and its light guided me to where I needed to go.

It was after midnight, when I opened the door to my house and quietly made my way upstairs. I should have gone to the kitchen and taken out the plate my mother left for me to let them know I'd come in at a decent hour; but I didn't, and I was too tired to play games with the truth.

I was a working stiff. I had a right to go out at night and come in late if I decided to. My parents would need to get accustomed to me having a life of my own that would be lived out of their sight and control.

Thinking of Free sleeping out in the woods worried me. He didn't seem to own anything but the clothes on his back and his skateboard and some bed clothes, and yet he smelled as clean as if he were freshly scrubbed. His clothes weren’t at all dirty, and he was happy-go-lucky, like his life was OK.

My life was better than OK. I had it all, and the only thing I might want, and couldn't afford, was a surfboard, but I hadn't even seen the ocean yet. I'd been way too busy trying to make contact with people I could become friends with, and now, I'd met Free. The ocean was the last thing on my mind. I'd come to California thinking I'd learn to surf right off, but I hadn't heard anyone I met talk about going to surf.

While El Cajon wasn't a low rent district, because nowhere was in California, it was blue collar, and lower middle class, when compared to neighborhoods closer to San Diego. It was possible, many boys couldn't afford surfboards. They did the next best thing to surfing; they skated using skateboards as transportation.

A surfboard is only good, where there is surf, and there wasn't any in El Cajon. It was a trolley ride from downtown, and you could bus and trolley almost anywhere in the area, but I'd seen few surfboards, and then, they were usually strapped to the roof of a passing car.

Because we'd done it so much yesterday, and I did have to work today, Free and I hadn't made plans to meet. I remembered that, while skating to work, I could be late, and skate to see Free in the woods, before he got going; but then, he wouldn't get going, and I wouldn't get to work. It would start a bad habit.

I'd come to a new place, and I didn't want to start bad habits. I told a man I'd work, if he hired me, and I would. I couldn't keep Free in sight all the time. There were times we'd be apart, and while I worked was one of those times. I had to trust he felt the same way about me, as I felt about him. Otherwise, what was the point? We needed to get to know each other. We needed to trust each other, and part of that was going to work, when I'd rather go make love to Free.

* * * * *

I made the same request the following day, to get off by three. It was met with the same reply. The last truck left the loading dock at one, and by three, I'd put up almost all of the stock. I'd swept the floors, and I hung my apron on the hook, by Mr. Hitchcock's office.

“Thanks, Z,” Mr. Hitchcock said, as I grabbed my skateboard.

“You’re welcome. I'll see you tomorrow,” I said, going toward the front door.

Mr. Hitchcock was standing in his office door as I turned, before stepping outside. He smiled. I smiled back, and I was on my way to the small patch of grass on the far side of the mall. It was empty this afternoon. I sprawled upon it, thankful for a few minutes to rest after a fairly busy day.

A few minutes later, a voice came from the blue.

“How long are you prepared to wait?”

“As long as it's necessary to wait,” I replied.

Free dropped down next to me. He put his hand on mine. I smiled into the most glorious face of all. I wasn't a fool. I didn't know what love was, but whatever I was feeling for Free, had to be close, because I was sure it would be nearly impossible to feel more than I felt sitting on the lawn next to him.

“You left me. I woke up this morning, and you were gone. I never heard you leave,” he said.

“I had to go home. I don't want any trouble with my parents. Life has been pretty nice since we moved out here, and I don't want to open old wounds. My parents are good people. They've taken good care of me for eighteen years.”

“Isn't that what parents are supposed to do?” Free asked.

“I suppose. What did your parents do?” I asked foolishly.

“Not much,” Free said. “My mother doesn't know who my father is. Half the time, she doesn't remember who I am. When I was young and stupid, I asked her who my father was. She told me, 'He was probably one of the men I dated back then.' So, you see, I never knew what parents do, because my mother did so little.”

“How did you manage to survive?” I asked.

“I relied on the kindness of strangers,” he said, not with any enthusiasm.

“I'm sorry,” I said, lifting his hand to my lips and kissing the back of it.

“You didn't do anything but make me happy. Not many people make me happy,” Free said. “I'm an adult now. Time to put away childish things. I've got to learn to make it on my own, without so much kindness from so many strangers.”

“I can help you,” I said, having no idea how I'd do that.

“That isn't your job, Z. I've got to be able to take care of me. Don't you understand that?” Free asked.

“Yes, I think I do. What are you good at, Free,” I asked.

This time he to give a little thought to his answer. I had time to wait.

“I'm good at had making love to you, because I like you so much,” he said.

“I wish I were better at making love to you, so you'd know how much I care about you. I can't stop thinking about you, us,” I said.

He leaned to kiss my cheek.

Why did I ask so many questions? Why couldn't I simply let things be?

“All we've done is have sex. If you weren't so good at it, so perfect, when you come down to it, we don't know each other,” he said.

“I wasn't sure how it worked, once you found someone you really love. I mean what do you say? What do you do, and then I met you, and I stopped worrying about it. What I do is stay close to you. What we do is make love.”

“I'm very good at everything we do together, because I really like you. I don't think that will get me through life, because we're so young, Z. If I could, I'd make love to you right here, but I do have some sense. I've never done anything well, except for maybe taking care of myself. I can take care of myself,” Free said, and I thought of John, and what Mr. Bowen said about the hippies.

Kids who joined together, to take care of each other, while influencing the greater good, was one thing. Guys not able to live at home, for whatever reason, was different. How did you survive, when your parents didn't take care of you?

“I'm here to help you with that. I work and I have a little money. That's a start. We need a starting point,” I said.

“That's your starting point. I need to figure out what I can do well and make a living at it. Letting someone take care of me isn't taking care of myself. For as long as we stick together, that might work, but what happens if we can't stick together? You see my point?” Free asked. “There needs to be more than sex, not that I'm knocking sex. You have a life, a job, and a family you owe loyalty to. I don't have a job or a family, but I've taken care of myself. I need to figure out how to do that long term. Up until now, I have lived from day to day, but I'm grown now, and I'm able to do things I wasn't able to do, before I turned eighteen. I've lived the life I've lived, because I had to.”

“Yes, you did, and there are no guarantees, but we are together right now. I want to help you decide on what you'd like to do,” I said. “Being young is a great thing in most ways, except we have no idea what will happen tomorrow. I'm so deliriously happy right now, it's difficult to put it in words, Free. I've never been this happy before. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I want it to last forever, but forever is a long long time. I want our love to last, and part of it is helping the boy I love. Just like you'd help me.“

Free and I sat together on the grass, holding hands for a long time. We looked at each other. We smiled a lot. I got the giggles. He tickled me. I laughed loud and long. We rolled over together in the grass, and his lips brushed mine a few times.

Feeling wonderful was, well, it was wonderful. Being with Free was wonderful. My life was wonderful, and everything looked different to me. It was like the world had just gotten a fresh coat of paint. It was like every breath of air was filled with rosebuds and honey. It was like nothing I'd experienced before, and I was going to hide this deep in the file marked for gym, so my parents would never find it, if they should decide to look for their son there. I wasn't a gym type of guy, so they knew nothing important would be written in a file labeled gym.

I don't know what will happen, because everything was so good. Things would happen, and I didn't want to be so in love with Free, that I’d missed things I needed to know about. I didn't want to lose myself in Free, and it was obvious that Free needed to find himself and not become lost in me.

I don't know what the odds were on love working out. I suppose we had a 50/50 shot at it. If you started out loving each other, that love had to live somewhere inside of both of us. I didn't think love went away. I was sure love changed. I was sure my parent's love had changed, but they were still in love.

That's what I wanted for Free and me. We'd love each other, learn to live together, and never crowd each other.

I wanted to share everything with Free.

Chapter 13

Getting Back

By the time I got home later that night, I ran right into a parental defense. I knew precisely what the first question would be. My parents would not ask where I was until almost midnight. They wouldn't ask me if I'd been drinking, although I was drunk on love. They would not question my character or my life's choices.

“Did you get to work on time this morning?” Dad asked.

“Yes, sir.”

They sat on the couch. My mother held onto my father's arm. They were usually in bed by nine on work nights, and so was I, usually.

“You're burning the candle at both ends, Zane. You can't get away with it long term. You do know that? You look beat, and I won't keep you up, unless you're hungry, and your mom put a plate in the ice box for you.”

“No, I ate. I had this fantastic Mexican food, Dad. You guys need to try Mexican. It's great,” I said with enthusiasm.

“Maybe on the weekend, we'll look for a Mexican restaurant,” Dad said. “You are going to be at work tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“You want me to wake you at your usual time, before I leave?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I had the Mexican food. I'm not hungry. I'll go up to bed, now,” I said, taking the steps two at a time, after my parents had nothing else to say.

As grillings went, it was no great shakes. I'd given my parents a lot of trouble at fifteen and sixteen, but I'd been an angel since we moved. In some ways, with my father stopping at work to take me home at dinner time, we were closer than we'd ever been.

Dad was happy. For the first time in his life, he was making plenty of money to do anything he and mom wanted to do. I'd needed to introduce them to Free. They needed to know whom I was spending so much time with. Compared to some of my friends back home, Free was a choirboy; no piercings, tats, or crazy orange or purple hair.

* * * * *

After unloading two trucks the next morning, I was stacking the can goods in the aisles, next to the shelves that needed stocking. I didn't hear Mr. Hitchcock walk down the isle. My mind was full of canned goods, and Free.

“You are a happy fellow,” Mr. Hitchcock said. “You are whistling, Z. I haven't heard you whistle before. I haven't heard a clerk whistling, while he worked.”

“Yes, Mr. Hitchcock, I'm happy. I didn't realize I was whistling. I'll keep it down.”

“No, no. It's a pleasant sound. You whistle all you want. I hope it means you are happy here. I haven't had a clerk as efficient as you for some time. I'd like to keep you happy. If whistling does it, keep on whistling. Since you are so efficient, and you are saving me time and work, I am raising your pay by another quarter an hour. I want you to know, I'm happy, too, Z.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hitchcock. I try to do my job as well as I can. It's what I agreed to do, when I came to work for you. I am glad you're happy with me.”

I went back to stocking the shelves and whistling a happy song. Work didn't seem like work the last few days, but I did know that at three, I was ready to leave, and I was afraid that didn't please Mr. Hitchcock, but I was doing my job, as he showed me how to do it. It wasn't hard. I was able to move around, and the customers were nice. There was no downside working for Mr. Hitchcock.

* * * * *

I skated directly to the patch of grass on the far side of the mall on Broadway. This time Free waited for me. He stood up, when he saw me coming.

“Hey, Z. How are you today?” Free asked.

“I'm just fine, handsome. I got a raise at work,” I said.

“Cool,” Free said. “You hungry. Could you stand more Mexican food today?”

“I was thinking about it since we had those tacos and burritos,” I said, and we were off to the food court. At three in the afternoon, it was almost empty. We walked right up, ordered our food, and five minutes later we were eating.

After ordering, I reached for my wallet, as the clerk rang up the sale.

Free put his hand on my arm to stop my wallet from appearing in public.

“You paid last time. This one is on me,” he said.

“But we bought more this time, and I'm the one that got the raise,” I said.

“Yes, you did, and we're celebrating. I did some work for Mr. Ramsey today. He pays me in cash, so it's not on his books. I'm buying,” Free said, handing over a twenty for our meals.

“What do you do for Mr. Ramsey?” I asked.

“He has a storage area behind his store. I move the boxes out to where they go on the shelves, and I put up the canned goods, candy, and chips and stuff,” Free said. “It saves him a lot of physical work, and it isn't that hard.”

“That's what I do at Hitchcock's Market,” I said.

“I know where that is. I stopped going because the candy bars are all next to the checkout counter. For me to clip a candy bar, I've got to have something to check out. I stopped going in there. Now I have a reason to go back,” Free said.

Mexican food must grow on you, because it was even better the second time around. We got some more complicated tortilla filled with junk I couldn't identify, but it was so juicy, it dripped down my chin and tasted fabulous. We were like two smiling idiots, juice dripping, and we couldn't get enough. I added a bit more hot sauce to my two tacos, and they were delicious.

I'd spent my entire life avoiding the idea of Mexican food, and I somehow thought it would be different back east, but now that I'd experienced the California Mexican food, I would never go back to burgers as a steady diet. A burger and fries had been my fallback meal for years, but it now had competition.

I couldn't eat all the food Free bought for me, but I ate it anyway. I realized how a lot of older Mexican folks got as large as they grew to be. You could start eating the stuff, and never stop from one meal to the next, but Free and I did stop, once the food was gone.

We sat watching the teeny-boppers make their appearance. Some nodded at Free, and others just walked by us like we weren't there, which was fine.

It was a pleasant day and after we got to the clearing in the woods, I got a good view of it, lying on the blanket, and watching every move Free made, as he loomed above me, eyes closed, a blissful look on his face.

It was while I had a lucid second or two, between the sheer bliss that overtook me, when Free rode me like a bronco that lost his buck. It still amazed me that I couldn't touch him while he fell into his love-making trance. As soon as I did, the incredibly jet propelled liquid spewed forth in one torrent and then another, until he settled down on me, chest heaving, waiting to recover. For a few minutes, before it began again.

He reminded me it was best for him if I didn't handle him, even with care, because he would reach his peak of passion early on, and it took all his focus to hang on to give me all he had to give, and he gave a lot.

I settled for rubbing his muscular legs and smooth chest and shoulders, when he leaned forward to kiss my hot lips. He was more flexible than anyone I knew, but I never knew anyone who did what Free did. No matter where, or how, he touched me, it left an impression that drove me closer to our final act in a passion play that started a new each afternoon at about three-thirty.

Lying beside Free, his hand in mine, my head leaning against his shoulder, his arm around me, gave me more pleasure than the sex act, which gave me more pleasure than I can express in words. I live in a state of bliss, and a constant erection, that I'm hoping to satisfy as each day proceeds.

I need to write everything down, so that one day, I can go back to Free, find him in sentences and paragraphs long ago written. I can't capture his essence, and it would be impossible to describe what I feel for him. Words have their limits, and reading mine, will serve to remind me of how awesome Free was.

Being my first love, Free would have a forever place in my heart. While I wanted it to last forever, I wasn't dumb enough to believe it could. Life wasn't that easy. Maybe a few people fell in love at first sight, and stayed together until the last breath, but I didn't want to think much past tomorrow's meeting.

* * * * *

Up until the fourth month I lived in California, it hadn't been as advertised. In the land of milk and honey, the milk went sour and I got stung, each time I reached for the honey. In the land of fruit and nuts, there were plenty of fruits, who didn't interest me, and the nuts were everywhere.

I was flying on a wing and a prayer, and my prayer went unanswered. I prayed for only one thing, and after months of thinking I'd really made a mistake moving to California with my parents.

The night I met Free it all changed. The milk was fresh and cold; the honey was delectable; the fruit had become luscious; and the nuts crunched and were just salty enough. Life had gone from a lost cause to the greatest story I was able to imagine.

My life turned into something great, because of a single meeting. It wasn't an ideal meeting. The circumstances were strained and uncomfortable, but when a thing is meant to happen, it is going to happen, and Free and I rushed into the night, and we found each other in the darkness.

School had begun, and miracle of all miracles, I was able to qualify for the work release program. If Mr. Hitchcock certified my work ethic, and I took English and math, they'd cover the rest of my credits for graduation with work credit. What a novel idea.

I arrived at Hitchcock's market around nine each day. There were deliveries at eight, two mornings a week, but Mr. Hitchcock told me that he could handle those and get a little exercise to boot. Working for the man was easy, because he seemed to like me and value what I brought to Hitchcock's Market.

I might be a little late meeting Free, but he knew how excited I was to be able to keep a full-time job, now working Saturdays and going to school, too.

While I understood the fragility of love, I only understood it, because I'd discovered it. As marvelous as life had become, I knew each day would not be as wonderful as yesterday. Free and I were in love, and there was nothing to compare it to, because it was nothing like anything else.

I now knew love existed, and I was able to feel love, accept love, and give myself to love. Nothing pleased me more than holding Free, being held by Free. Most of my waking hours were spent with Free on my mind. When I wasn't with him, I was thinking about him. I could happily go about doing the things it was necessary to do but still not be free of Free. In my heart, knowing that before much longer, I'd be seeing Free, and he would set me free of all my cares and woes.

While I was with Free, there was nothing else. The world became suspended, until we'd expended all the energy we had on making love. The world stopped for us each day. Nothing in that world mattered to be, but Free. Free. Free.

* * * * *

By my sixth month in California, the first crack appeared in what had been a heretofore flawless relationship. The crack was subtle, barely noticeable, but the crack did appear. It was no one's fault or doing. It was what it was, a crack.

When everything is perfect, and you are in love, and the person you love is in love with you, life will go on, with you, or without you. I preferred, with me. No matter the outcome, I'd been as totally devoted to another guy as I possibly could be. There was no halfway in or out. I was all in for Free, for better or for worse, and the crack would grow, whether or not I ignored it.

“How do you feel about the navy?” Free asked.

“Every country worth its salt has one,” I said.

“What do you think about me joining our navy?”

I thought he'd hit me with a baseball bat, is what I thought.

“This is a rhetorical question, right?” I asked.

“I talked to my recruiter,” Free said.

“I thought I was your recruiter,” I said. “I recruited you to be my lover.”

“Oh, Z! You've got to see, this is the only way I have a future. It won't be right away. I need to get my GED first,” Free said. “My recruiter thinks I can find an occupation I like, and the navy will train me to do it well. I have no talent, Z. I can't do anything. If I learn a skill, I'll be able to support myself.”

I pushed Z out of the equation, because this was about Free. I loved him, and that meant Free came first, even when he just told me he was leaving me. I would not bitch and moan. I would not be a selfish bitch, and make us both miserable for whatever time was left.

“I can help you with your GED. I'm not all that smart, but I'm a senior. I'll graduate in a few months. I should be able to help you enough for you to get your GED,” I said, feeling like someone had just begun pulling my teeth, one by one, and without the benefit of pain killers.

“See. I knew you'd understand. It's not like I'm joining forever,” Free said.

“The navy does travel,” I said. “You can't be stationed in El Cajon or Santee?”

“Z, it's my only shot. They'll help me get my GED. They don't need to do that. My tests came back with good scores. They want me in the navy.”

“In the navy,” I sang like the Village People sang it.

“I'll write you. We'll stay in touch. I'll get a skill, and then, when I serve my four years, I can get a decent job.”

Yes, he could.

“Four years? I can't stand to be away from you for four hours, Free.”

“We've always known that we have to grow up. We need a future. That wasn't a secret. I decided to check out the navy as a possibility, is all.”

It was all, and letting go left me with the pain the size of the Pacific inside my chest. Whatever the opposite of love was, was the weight that had fallen onto me. I had to support Free, make him think I could live with his decision, and deal with the greatest loss I'd ever known.

I would do it, but I wouldn't be whistling any time soon. My life had settled into a balancing of work, my home life, and my life with Free. The idea that one-third of my life would be sliced away, did nothing for my disposition.

I could only prepare for when Free would leave, and then the real pain would start. Knowing it was coming was not any help. The time Free and I spent together was no longer the same. The love that had been there had become illusive. I felt the same way about him that I'd felt all along, but it was a surface response to a physical being. Underneath, where everything took place, I was empty as the land of milk and honey had become for me.

I would survive this. Once Free left, the likelihood he'd return to me in El Cajon was inconceivable. He was going to discover the world. He was going to be with thousands of gorgeous guys who would give their right nut for a shot at his beautiful ass. Free wouldn't even remember me in four years. If he did remember me, I'd be the guy he had a fling with, before the navy, where he became a man.

With all he'd meant to me, becoming a fling he once had, was the worst possible conclusion to a love story. Even when I suspected our love would one day end, I never considered that there'd be no hope of a return performance.

* * * * *

Experiencing the first love of my life made giving that love up a major undertaking. A long distance love affair might be possible, had Free and I been together longer, and had we developed a dependence on each other for something more than sexual fulfillment.

Free was going to go around the world, while learning a skill that could sustain a good life. Free had spoken of how young we were, and we were young, and he was my first love. I was hoping that Free wouldn't be my last love.

Free needed to get his GED, before he could be accepted by the navy. His recruiter got all the material he'd need to study for the test, and a backpack to carry the books. When I arrived at the patch of grass at the far side of the mall, Free was reading one of the books from the backpack.

He still smiled, when he saw me.

“You're taking this study thing seriously,” I said.

“I need to pass the test to get into the navy. It's not too bad. I went to tenth grade, and I wasn't stupid. My recruiter said, 'The test isn't hard.'”

“Yes, and he's a recruiter,” I said. “he gets paid to say that.”

“Exactly,” Free said.

“Come with me. We'll go to my house, and I'll help you. I was never the brightest bulb in the box, but I know a noun from a verb, and I am good in history,” I said.

Until that moment, I had no plan. I loved Free. I didn't want to let him go, but Free had a right to the life he wanted, and if he was willing to work for it, I was willing to help him. I could have ignored him and walked away, but I couldn't ignore him and walk away. So, I'd help him get where he was going, as my last act of love for him.

I was helping Free, when my parents came home. I introduced them to Free, and they were surprised to see me helping someone get his GED. When dinner was ordered, it was ordered for four, and Free ate with us, as Free revealed things about his life I didn't know.

My parents liked Free. What wasn't to like.

Free was a whiz with math. He knew more about math than I did, and I thought he'd do fine on math questions. History was mostly reading, and I read to him. We went over the most important events in the founding of the U.S., and the highlights of American history since the colonies left British rule.

I remembered much of history, but I still managed to learn a few things I hadn't picked up on before. Studying with Free kept us together, and it started eating into the time we had left.

For the first few days of studying, Free left before my parents went to bed.

“How is the studying going, Free?” My father asked.

“It's not as hard as I thought it might be. Z is a good teacher. He's a big help,” Free said, before leaving for the night.

It went like that for a week or so, Free leaving before I went to bed.

We hadn't had sex, since we started studying together. Most of our time together was spent on the things we found in the books he'd been given. I was certain that the questions on the test would come from those books. The military had no desire to waste time and energy on losers. They'd seen to it that the books they gave to recruits, who needed a GED, were right to the point.

At the beginning of the second week of Free being at my house most of the time when I was there, he started staying over. The first time he stayed for the night, we'd put down the books at nine, and we made love until the wee hours of the morning. He'd never been more passionate, but I was withdrawing my most intense feelings, realizing this was now a passing fancy.

The day after we made love at my house for the first time, I took Free to work with me. I sat a five gallon bucket of plaster on the loading dock, and Free sat there in the shade, going over the material in the books. Anything he came to that he didn't understand, he marked down. When I took a break, I went to the loading dock to help find the answers Free needed.

At lunch time, I bought a loaf of bread, two kinds of lunch meat, a tomato, and onion, and some plastic knives and forks, and paper plates, along with our biggest bag of potato chips. I went back to buy two bottles of soda, and Mr. Hitchcock, now curious, followed me to the loading dock.

“Ah, now I see where you keep disappearing to,” Mr. Hitchcock said, picking up one of the books next to the five gallon container of plaster. “This young man studying for his GED, Z?”

“Yes, sir. He's joining the navy, and he needs a GED before they'll take him.”

“I see,” he said. “And you are his tutor?”

“I'm trying to help on my breaks, and I can't let him go hungry,” I said.

“Yes, but you didn't take your employee discount when you rang up your sales. An employee doesn't pay full price for groceries, because he is an employee,” Mr. Hitchcock said.

“I don't mind,” I said. “I have a good job. I can afford it.”

Mr. Hitchcock disappeared for a few minutes, and he brought me back a five dollar bill.

“It was only seven dollars,” I said. “This is too much.”

“No, it's not too much. I gave you the owners discount. I can do that, you know. I am the owner,” Mr. Hitchcock said, leaving us to finish lunch.

“You are right, Z,” Free finally said.

“I am. About what?” I asked.

“He is a nice guy. I was worried he might ask me to wait for you somewhere else,” Free said.

Not a chance. He'll be asking about your GED every day now. He'll be pulling for you to succeed, because it's the kind of man he is.

“Cool,” Free said, biting into the sandwich I built for him.

It felt good to be helping free. As unhappy as I felt, helping him made it easier on me, and helping him meant, keeping him fed. He needed to be on top of his game, once he went to take the test. I intended to see that he was.

The next day that Brenda Hitchcock worked, she made her way back to the loading dock, where both Free and I studied, during my afternoon break.

“Hi, Z. Pop said you were helping a friend study for his GED. I'm in school to become a teacher. Can I help?”

“How well do you know English,” I asked.

“I'm an A. I'm going to teach. You shouldn't teach if you don't know what you're talking about. I do know, and I'll be a good teacher, and who do we have here, Z.”

“I'm Free,” Free said, standing up to shake hands with Brenda.

“What is your real name? I want to know who I'm teaching,” she said.

“I'm Anthony Wentworth,” he said.

My hand immediately went to my mouth. I'd never asked Free his name.

“You didn't know his name, did you?” she asked me.

“No, I never asked. He goes by Free,” I said.

“That might work on the street, but if you're serious about getting your GED, and I assume you have a reason you're working toward that, you need to be Mr. Wentworth, if you want people to take you seriously. That's my advice,” she said. “You'll be taken more seriously that way. If you get chummy with the people at work, then, tell them to call you Free.”

“It sounds like good advice to me. Thank you,” Free said.

“I come in at three, which is usually about the time you leave, Z. Have him here at three, during the week, and if it isn't too busy, Pop will handle the store, and I'll offer Mr. Wentworth my best English instruction,” Brenda said. “Let me take the English book up front, and I'll look it over. I've seen examples that appear on the GED test, and I can make sure you're equipped to pass it. It's fairly basic material.”

“That would be a big help,” Free said.”I really need to pass this thing.”

Brenda laughed, taking the book which contained the English section of the material, and disappeared with it.

“If I ever tried to find you, I wouldn't have known whom I was looking for,” I said.

“My name will be on the envelopes, when I write you. I'm sure they won't accept Free as my proper name. It may be the new navy, but it ain't that new.”

“I suppose not, but I can't believe I never asked you your name,” I said.

Chapter 14

Replacement Friends

With all the pieces in place, Free would take and pass the GED test with flying colors, but the one thing Free didn't need any help with, math, was the score that impressed his recruiter most, and in short order, he sat Free down with a math test that was right out of the navy's schools, where they placed recruits in fields that were consistent with their intelligence.

“He said that I qualify for a school for weapon computer systems. I'll be going to the Great Lakes after boot camp, and I’ll learn about the electronic systems on the war ships. He told me it is one of the gravy fields in the military, and once I've had enough of the navy, I'll be qualified to work for civilian military contractors, who create and built the weapon's systems,” Free said.

“That's great. I don't know how I feel about you helping the military kill people, but someone has to do it, I guess. You really think you'll like it?” I asked.

“A month ago, I wondered if there was anything I could do. Now, there are no limits to what I can do. Lucky says, if I do really well at the Great Lakes school, I could apply for the officer candidates program. Computer geeks make up a large number of sailors that qualify for that program.”

“I'm happy for you, Free. I want you to do well. I want you to do what you think is best for you. You deserve some good stuff, after you've had so much grief in your life. You are a good person, who deserves some good stuff,” I said.

I was happy for Free. I loved him. I wanted him to do well. I just wished he could do it, while staying with me, but life simply didn't work that way. Whatever it was he found that made his life worth living, I didn't think it would be anywhere near El Cajon.

I wasn't going to cry, until after he was gone. I wasn't going to measure my lost, and look for my path forward. Free had decided on how he wanted to go, and it didn't include me, and once he was gone, I'd figure out my way forward.

The day Free was to go to boot camp, he asked me to go with him to meet Lucky, his recruiter. I wasn't prepared for the gray bus, half filled with today's recruits. I was beside Free, when he walked to the front door of the bus. It was open, and a large, perfectly dressed uniformed navy recruiter came down the steps to greet Free.

“Glad to see you Recruit Wentworth. You brought your guard with you? I'm Chief Petty Officer Andrew Jackson Brown, and you are?” He asked, presenting me with a white gloved hand.

“Just Z,” I said, shaking his hand once, and quickly letting go, before he had a chance to squeeze. I was sure, if he squeeze, I'd never use the hand again.

The recruiter laughed, as quickly as I retrieved my hand. He even managed to smile, showing a mouth full of pearly whites.

“Andrew Jackson?” I said. “You should be in politics.”

The recruiter laughed deep inside.

“That's what my dear mother told me. It's why she gave me that name.”

His voice was deep and warm. I really wanted to hate the guy, because he took Free away from me. I didn't see the attraction, but it was too late now.

Andrew Jackson got back on the bus, and his booming voice told the recruits what to expect, and then he got off the bus, stood next to me, as the door closed, and the gray bus lurched into motion.

I watched Free's face, until I couldn't see it any longer. My heart literally dropped out of my chest. It was over.

“Z, is it?” Andrew Jackson Brown asked.

“It's Z,” I said.

“Z, you have a pretty smart friend there. I've been recruiting for five years after being wounded over in the Gulf, and Anthony is one of the boys who come through here. Few boys leave an impression on me at that age, but he did.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “He hasn't had a break in his life.”

“He's gotten one now. I know it's difficult saying goodbye, to some you..., are close to, but he's on his way. I alerted my commander that Recruit Wentworth is officer material. If he does the work, he'll go a long way in this man's navy,” Andrew Jackson Brown said. “And you, Z, have you considered a life of high flying adventure on the seven seas? The navy will give you a home.”

“No,” I said, leaving no doubt about it. “I have a home, thank you.”

He laughed a laugh from deep inside him.

“I thought not,” he said, pivoting on the shiny toe of his right foot, smartly marching himself back into the recruiter's station.

I laughed as the impressive man left. I bet he could charm a little old lady in a wheelchair to join up.

I turned back toward where the bus disappeared. It was long gone, and so was Free. I felt sick. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn't do it there. My loss was a private affair.

I'd been sick since the day Free told me his plan. I didn't tell him how much it hurt. I'm sure Free realized that I was in pain. Except for the one night when he initiated sex with me in my bed, we stopped having sex, because he didn't start it again.

I memorized our love making. One last time he'd ridden me out beyond the moon, as we dashed among the stars, and deep into a blackness, where time and distance had no meaning, until we drifted on the wings of clouds, settling back down in my bed.

Being with Free, made it the greatest night of my life.

Afterward, once we came back to earth, I didn't have a thing to say. It was over, and I accepted that. Ordinarily, I was a gabby Gus, but not that night. It was the first, and last, love-making we did, once Free's future had been made clear to me. What was there to say?

Of course, I didn't know it was the last time he'd initiate sex, and I wouldn't initiate sex. I may have accepted the inevitable, but I still had to work on letting go of Free. I'd do all within my power to help him get where he was going, while hoping he'd change his mind and not go into the navy.

Certainly it was an illusion, but to adapt to losing him, there had to be slight of hand to get me from one hurdle to the next. Being with him, while I was losing him, was the hardest part. Had he came home and said, “I'm out of here,” the process would have gone faster.

He had a shot. He took it. I was alone again. This time alone was not as demanding as it had been before. I had no need to rush out and start another fling with another boy.

There was no other boy. There was only Free, and while I knew, there were plenty more boys out there, waiting for a dance with a warm fuzzy guy like me, he'd need to wait for another day. A day when my mind wasn't filled with Free.

I went to work every day. I began staying late to put all the canned goods on the shelves from the last delivery. It wasn't hard work, but I needed to pay attention so I didn't put the tomatoes where the peanut butter belonged, or I didn't put the apple sauce where the apple jelly went.

Something about the routine, the repetition, meant I didn't need to engage my brain too much, and not engaging my brain kept me from thinking about Free. I didn't take breaks for the same reason. I ate lunch while I worked.

Mr. Hitchcock came to the aisle where I was putting up canned goods, shortly after unloading the truck that brought the boxes, and he'd watch for a minute or two before walking away. I didn't look at him or engage him in conversation.

I didn't have much to say to anyone. My parents asked if I was OK, but they knew something was wrong. I no longer gobbled up whatever was on the menu for dinner, and they were still ordering the meal with the idea of feeding Free. It was a lot of food, but I always ended up staring at Free's chair, and he wasn't in it..

It was the following week after Free left. I was still working most of the time after attending my classes. I didn't go to the mall. I didn't do much skating except for going to work and going home. I told my dad that I would be working late, and he shouldn't stop for me for a while.

I was in aisle three, stocking lima beans and succotash, which went next to the corn, creamed corn, and the peas, and peas and carrots, when I became of someone standing behind me. I kept reaching into the box and reaching to reach the upper shelves. I did not want to talk to anyone, especially a customer.

I'd placed the last can where it belonged, when I felt someone standing behind me.

“Go away,” I thought to myself, concentrating on pinto beans, great northern beans, navy beans, and blackened peas. I wondered why the black eyed peas didn't go with the peas and peas and carrots. I was sure there was a reason. Like there was a reason someone was still standing there. I waited for the telltale clearing of their throat. I could ignore that. I wasn't in the mood.

“You OK, Z?” Brenda asked.

“Me? I'm fine.”

I placed the large lima beans next to the black eyed peas, and I wondered why they weren't with the green lima beans. I suppose size mattered in this case. Green lima beans weren't large at all. Funny I hadn’t noticed these things before.

I hadn't even said hello. I wanted to get rid of her, and I had, but now I felt bad about it. She'd spent a lot of time helping Free, and she deserved a “hello.” I don't think I'd even said “hello” to her father, when I dashed in from school, anxious to get lost among the canned goods. Hitchcock's shelves had never been this full. There was always room for one more can.

I hadn't run into Brenda that often, because she went to school at SDSU, leaving there on her way to work at the store at about two-thirty each day. If we saw each other, it was to say, “hi, bye,” and not much more.

While she was helping Free, we didn't have time to talk, because she was focused on Free, which was what she'd said she would do. Long after I'd gone back to work, they'd be sitting on the five gallon cans, talking over English.

I remember, one afternoon, when business began picking up, Brenda passed behind me, going to the register to check customers out, and she said, “Mr. Wentworth is smarter than I am, when it comes to math. He can solve most of the problems in his head, and I can't do that. Even with a piece of paper to figure it out, I still get some problems wrong.”

Brenda and I hadn't done more than nod at each other, during the summer. Once I started school, my hours were nine to five. Brenda and I were there for a couple of hours each day. When she volunteered to teach English to Free, we talked seriously for the first time.

I didn't want to talk, and now she probably wouldn't talk to me. I wasn't there to please the owner or his daughter, well, maybe the owner. However, the earth wouldn't end if Brenda never talked to me again, but it went against my idea of how you treated people. I couldn't explain it to her, and I doubt she'd understand. Besides, she usually wanted to talk about Free, and that wasn't happening. Free was long gone.

As I stocked cans of pork & beans, Campbell's, Van Camp's, and Bush’s, Brenda was back. I found that baffling. I was sure she wasn't speaking to me.

Today, she didn't want to talk about Free. She wanted to talk about me, and what was there to talk about, besides me being rude.

“Pop's worried about you,” Brenda said. “I'm worried about you. He's not going to violate your space. He doesn't want to lose you, but he doesn't know what to say to get you to talk to him, Z. This is not at all like you.”

I removed cans from the box, one at a time, setting them on the shelves.

“Z, I'm a teacher. We're taught to look out for kids who may be in trouble. They spend a lot of time warning us to be aware of depression, signs of abuse, and kids who are too quiet or withdrawn. It doesn't take a genius to see the pain you're in, and Pop is worried about you. He thinks a lot of you , Z. If there is anything we can do, just let me know. It's not hard to connect this with Free's departure. He was a pleasure to be around.”

“There's work to do, Brenda. Free is gone. I'll get over it.”

“He was more than a good friend, wasn't he?” Brenda asked.

“I know gay guys at school. I can see how they look at each other, when they're in love. It's nice to see that, see love in motion. That's how you and Free looked at each other. Like those gay guys, who were in love,” she said.

“You've found me out, Brenda. There's still nothing you or Mr. Hitchcock can do. I need to deal with him leaving. I'll get over it,” I said.

“Can I tell my father what it is. He's really worried. He's afraid of losing you, and he's rather fond of you, Z.”

“Sure. Tell him what you think is best. As long as I'm doing my job, I hope it won't make a difference. I need the job, Brenda,” I said, knowing not all people liked gay people.

“He'll be able to relate to your loss. We lost my mother five years ago. He knows what losing the person you love is like,” Brenda said, sympathy in her words.

As I suspected it would be, talking about it made it even more raw, more painful. I finished the box, broke it down, hung my apron on the hook next to Mr. Hitchcock's office, and I left through the loading dock.

I skated past two skaters I recognized, but I didn't slow down, until I got to where I was going. I picked up my board, and I walked into the woods, following the narrow path to where Free slept. The pillow and two blankets were still there. I spread out one blanket, used the other for my head, and I held the pillow full of his scent, and I cried and cried. This was all that was left of Free.

I took the pillow and threadbare blankets with me. I needed the pillow to furnish me with the support it gave me. It proved there was a Free, and that once we were in love. His smell reassured me both things were true.

When I left work that day, I didn't know if I'd return, but then I remembered how Mr. Hitchcock's clerks always walked out on him without a word. They simply didn't come back, and I wouldn't do that to him. I needed the job. Without it, I might not survive losing my first love. I was there, on time, the following morning.

“Morning, Z. Nice to see you,” Mr. Hitchcock said.

“Morning, Mr. Hitchcock,” I said.

I wanted to tell him I wouldn't walk away, as so many others had done, but I was no longer certain of what I might do.

During the morning, after I unloaded the second delivery that morning, Mr. Hitchcock passed behind me in the aisle, as I put up canned goods.

“Free was a fine boy,” he said. “I can see how easy it would be to love such a boy. I'm sorry, Z. I don't know about these things, but I'm sorry,” he said, not waiting for a reply or to see the tears that dripped on the cans I put on the shelf.

The circle was closed. I wasn't going to be fired for loving another man. I didn't figure I would be, but you never know. I'm not sure that Lucky, the recruiter, didn't sense that the boy who accompanied Free to the bus to basic training camp, was Free's lover.

Free did write once a week. The envelopes arrived with his navy number and with the name, Anthony Wentworth on the envelope as well. He didn't have a lot to say. He was worn out, and the four or five hours of sleep a night was never enough. He was learning the things you needed to know to be in the military. Most of it sounded like they were busy separating Free from himself. I hoped the thing that made him more special than anyone I'd known, wasn't removable.

On my eighteenth birthday, Mr. Hitchcock gave me a twenty-five dollar savings bond. He smiled and wished me well. I guess my birth date was listed on the paperwork I filled out, when I applied for the job. I shook his hand and thanked him.

The oddest thing happened, and it made my day, even though I didn't get it until I went home for dinner. It was the day I went by the mall on Broadway for the first time since Free left, and I sat on the patch of grass on the far side. Two boys said, “Hi, Z,” as they skated by. I waved, not knowing their names.

We'd been off from school that day, and my father took me to work on his way into town. I began stocking shelves shortly after seven, and I left at three. I wanted to remember what it was like. In a few months, I'd graduate, and I'd go back to that schedule permanently, and I wanted to start living again. I'd never forget Free, but now, it was time to move on. I thought I was ready.

There was a birthday card from Free waiting for me, when I got home. How did he know it was my birthday? It was a rather ordinary card, but Free wrote, “I wish I were there to help you celebrate turning eighteen. I turned nineteen in boot camp, so I'm a little over a year older than you are. Before I left, I asked your mom when your birthday was. I'm sorry I couldn't go shopping and send you a nice gift, but this place doesn't have anywhere to shop. We do get to buy candy and chips from the PX. That's the Post Exchange. I miss you a lot. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, Z. Being with you was the best part of my life so far.” He signed it, “Love, Free.”

I sat down to write him that night. “Free, you are absolutely doing the right thing. I know that you're going to be the best navy guy ever. Don't get distracted. Do your work, and I predict that great things will happen to you.”

I signed it, “Z.”

I remembered what Brenda told me about Free. I also remembered what Chief Andrew Jackson Brown told me. I wouldn't tell Free that, but Free passed his GED with flying colors. I was sure he was headed for big things. His life had been bad news so far, but every once in a while, people who have terrible starts in life, turn out to be one of the best. It's what Free would do.

Free's card was a precious surprise. My parents got me some clothes. They were hoping I was feeling better, but they realized it would take time for me to get over losing Free.

I don't know if they knew we were lovers, or if they thought we were just friends, but we actually weren't making love, save that one time, while Free slept in my bed with me every night, and my parents knew where Free slept. It had to cross their mind, but they learned to care about Free, and they were sorry to see him go. They still talked about him at the dinner table, and it was fine. We even laughed about some of the things Free did, while he was there.

It was the card that helped me get back onto steady ground. Something as simple as a birthday card, with him telling me he was questioning his decision, because I had been the best part of his life so far, made our love real. Free hadn't forgotten me. He hadn't been too busy to think about our months together.

Even if we didn't see each other again, our love was real to both of us.

That night, for the first time since Free left, I opened up my journal on my computer. I started a new section. I labeled it: “Free.”

When I first saw Free, he was with two guys John warned me about. Little could I have guessed within the hour, I would be making incredibly delicious love to the first boy I was destined to fall in love with. Free was my everything.

He was gone now, and I would go on alone. Funny thing is, I'm in no hurry to rush into falling in love with someone else. No one could replace Free. He was perfect, but one day, I'll meet a guy, and he'll have twinkle in his eyes, when he looks at me. I'll let my eyes twinkle at him, and we see where destiny takes us. For the time being, I was doing a solo, and I was in no hurry to complicate my life right away..

Chapter 15

My Surfboard

My life didn't suddenly turn good, but it was better, when I got up and skated to work the next day. I'd been in California for nearly a year, and I'd managed to find love, lose love, and I still hadn't gotten close to a surfboard. That urge, to follow the Beach Boys to the surf, and become a surfer, was once more something I decided I needed to do.

I had a job. I'd saved money. I could afford a surfboard. After leaving Hitchcock's market, the day after my birthday, I stopped at the Surf Shack on Broadway, in El Cajon. The short boards had become the rage, or so said the clerk who waited on me.

“The nice thing about the short board, they're much easier to take with you. The longer boards require a lot of planning. Having a car is almost a must, if you're going long board. There's always someone in the crowd with a ride, but then, you're on their schedule, if you want to get to the ocean, talk about surfboards for fifteen or twenty minutes.

“I'm Richie,” he said with a smile.

“I'm Z,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Z. Cool name,” Richie said.

“How old are you, Richie?” I asked, before I realized the question was rude..

“I turned nineteen last month. Preacher wouldn't hire me, until I was nineteen. Said he needed a man with some maturity, you know,” Richie said.

“Cool,” I said. “I turned eighteen yesterday. I'm here to spend my birthday money. I've been in California for a year, and I haven't been surfing yet.”

“Hey, Preach! We got ourselves a birthday boy here. Can I give him a birthday discount?”

A man polishing a surfboard at a bench a few feet away, looked up.

“How old are you,” Preacher asked.

“Eighteen,” I said.

“Good age,” he said, “When I was eighteen, I joined the marines. Wanted to go kill me some gooks, don't you know. When I got to Vietnam, I found out that gooks were the Vietnamese. I wasn't going to kill no people. I asked where the gooks were, and they told me, ‘That's them. They're the gooks.’ I took the next bus home, don't you know,” he said. “15% on anything over a hundred bucks. Best I can do, but I have some free advice for you. Don't join the marines. If you join the marines, don't kill anyone they call disgusting names. The Vietnamese are people, just like you, just like me, and just like every marine. The Lord tells us, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ You may think He doesn't really means it, but He does.”

Richie laughed. I laughed.

Preacher with a long ponytail and a face full of hair went back to work. It wasn't hard to picture Preacher at an anti-war rally.

“Fifteen percent on anything over a hundred bucks.” Richie said. “Oh, by the way, happy birthday,”

“It was actually my birthday yesterday,” I said,” I decided it was time to look for a surfboard.”

“He only gets ten percent on anything over a hundred bucks. Keep your mouth shut, when you're ahead of the game, kid,” Preacher said.

“I'll keep that in mind. I like telling the truth,” I said. “I wasn't expecting any discount.”

“What's your name, kid?”

“I'm Z,” I said.

“How do you spell that?” Preacher asked, laughing. “Give him the fifteen percent. I like Z. I found me an honest man. Rare as hens’ teeth those are.”

I could afford to pay full price, but the discount did get me into a board sooner than I liked. I had no way to get to the surf, but I was ready, once I did. I picked out a short board that had some specks of color in it.

“You are a beginner, Z? Just getting your first board?” Preacher asked, bringing over the pretty blue and white board he was polishing.

“Yes, sir. I've been wanting to learn. I decided it's time,” I said.

“$195, and I put an extra coat of wax on it with God's blessing. This board will never let you down,” Preacher said, handing it to me.

“Yes, sir,” I said, taking the board. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”

“Boss, that guy paid $250 for that board. He's coming in for it tonight,” Richie said.

“Don't talk so much, kid. I'm doing business with Z. I'll have Henry's board ready for him, and I've got time to put another coat of wax on it. Sometimes a board is meant for a particular person. This one is meant for Z. That's why I was polishing it when he came in. I knew right off: this is that boy's board, and I didn't even know he wanted a board,” Preacher said.

“It is and I do, Mr. Preacher. Thanks,” I said, taking out my wallet.

“Hear that, kid. I'm Mr. Preacher to you, from now on,” Preacher said with a laugh. “Kid’s got style.”

I laughed. How did I know that buying a surfboard was going to be so much fun. I should have bought it a long time ago.

“Hey, Z. Check with me, and if I'm going to San Onofre, I'll take you along, and I throw in a free lesson or two on that new board of yours,” Preacher said.

“You’re on. I'll be back,” I said, having no way to get to the ocean on my own.

I did go back to the Surf Shack, and Preacher was always ready to talk. I hadn't hit the Shack on a day he was going to San Onofre, but I was in no hurry. I'd waited a year without even having a surfboard. I could wait a little longer.

I felt good about owning a surfboard, even if I didn't know how to surf or have a way to get my board to the beach. My time would come, and I wanted to be ready, when it did. I was sure plenty of skaters went surfing. I just had met one who was on his way to the surf yet.

* * * * *

I left work one afternoon, and it was closing in on dinner time. I decided I needed to be home to get dinner while it was hot. Life had begun to reset itself. My mind wasn't on Free, or the absence of Free, all the time.

I didn't feel good, or even as well as I felt before I met Gordo, but time was passing. My life had to be about more than work and going home to hold Free's pillow. I hadn't told him I went to get it; I probably wouldn't. I was holding out for the real deal after boot camp, when he would get leave for the first time. The idea he'd come home to me was on my mind.

I was skating over one of the halfpipes, between Santee and El Cajon, when I remember which bridge that was. I stopped to look at the halfpipe, and I noticed someone skating down the middle of the pipe, heading for me. I watched as the figure grew larger.

The idea that lightning might strike twice in the same place, didn't occur to me. This was the bridge, where I'd watched the red-head do his ballet. I was almost sure of it, as a figure got larger as he came skating my way in the middle of the halfpipe, that ran under the bridge. No, it couldn't be, I thought.

The skater was propelling his board as fast as he could, and as I got a clear view of him, the first thing I noticed was his dark Auburn hair. I honed in on his face and I was looking at the man, who I'd watched give an exhibition of grace and skill on a skateboard the year before.

As he closed in on the bridge, moving at high speed, I decided that I could get to the other side of the bridge, around the abutment, and down into the halfpipe, before he scooted under it, and out the other side.

I turned in a flash, to cross the bridge, and I walked right into the side of a passing van. It stood me up, before I fell back on my ass. Man that hurt. I wasn't too sure where I was, or why I was there, until I remembered the skater.

“I saw you. I knew just what you were going to do. I tried to slow down. What in the world is wrong with you,” a red-faced man was talking to me, as I sat looking up at him.

“What happened,” I said, not sure yet.

“You turned to cross the bridge, and you stepped right into my van,” he said.

“I didn't hurt it, did I?” I asked.

“Hurt it? Hurt it? Are you OK. I'm not worried about the van, son. Are you OK?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said.

The red faced man had no involvement in what went down, but he began cussing me out, and pointing a finger at me. I couldn't understand him, and the man with the van I walked into, pushed the red faced man away.

“All those kids on those damn things are crazy,” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Who was that,” I asked, when the man with the van came back.

“Some busy body that can't mind his own damn business. Now, I want you to tell me that you're OK. I can take you to the hospital, if you feel the slightest bit out of sorts. I've got plenty of insurance, and I want you to be looked at.”

I felt my teeth, to be sure I hadn't lost any. I felt my forehead, and it had a lump at the hairline. My butt hurt, but my butt never got close to the van.

“Yeah, I'm OK,” I said.

“Here's my card. You don't look OK to me. If you feel like you need to have a doctor check you out, I'll take you. I have good insurance. Tell me that you're sure you don't want me to take you to the hospital,” the man said.

“He needs a psych ward. That boy walked right into your van. What were you thinking, kid?” another irate man wanted to know.

“I don't suppose much thought went into it,” I said. “I just didn't look.”

“If that ain't the truth,” the other man said. “He's OK. Here's my phone number, if you need a witness. Dumb kid.”

The witness handed the driver of the van his information.

I stood up, brushed off my butt, and looked over my skateboard, which was none the worse for wear.

“I'll be OK. I'm sorry for causing you trouble,” I said, feeling sorry.

“As long as you're OK, son. You have my information. If you feel like you need to go to see a doctor, I'll take care of it,” he said, walking away.

I watched the driver of the van go to where he'd pulled over. He got in and drove away. The other guy walked back to his car, he turned to look at me, shook his head, and he got in and drove the car away, giving me one more dirty look for good measure.

I walked back to where I was watching the red-headed boy’s approach. I walked across the now empty bridge, and I looked in the direction he was heading, but the halfpipe was empty. There was no sign of anyone.

It took me a year to catch up with that man a second time, and I had no better luck this time than I did the last time. You couldn't say I didn't try.

I felt my butt, one last time, and I worked my jaw from side to side. Everything seemed to be in place, but I felt a little dizzy.

I wondered if that's how Gordo felt, when he was skating like some mad possessed skateboarder.

* * * * *

I hadn't been hurt, but I was sore the day after I walked into the side of the van. It reminded me that nothing in life was easy. If I were ever going to meet the boy with the auburn hair, it probably wouldn't be while he was skating in a halfpipe. Giving the idea of tracking him down while he was on a skateboard lost its appeal, once I did the face plant into the side of a van.

I'd just as soon catch him, while he was at a full stop. Since it had taken me a year to rediscover the redhead, I wasn't going to hold my breath. He obviously lived somewhere near El Cajon and Santee. I doubted he skated in the halfpipe for fun, but, then again, you never knew what a skater might do.

It was more likely I'd run into him at the mall, or maybe he'd show up where skaters went to gather. One thing was for certain, we hadn't been traveling in the same circles for the last year. There was always hope that when it was time for us to meet, we'd meet, and that thought didn't hurt my feelings.

With Free never far from my thoughts, I began coming to life again. I stopped at the mall, talked to skaters I knew and didn't know. Z was on the prowl again, but this time I was more cautious with what I thought I was looking for. I wanted to be with people, and to do the things other skaters were doing.

The idea of having a boyfriend had come and gone with Free. Yes, I wanted friends, companions, and a tryst now and again would be OK. Anything more serious than that could wait. I'd lost the passion that drove me to find someone like Free. I would be more cautious but not to the extreme. I didn't plan to walk into the side of any more vans, but I did start looking out for that red-headed boy again. He had to be out here somewhere.

* * * * *

I watched Gordo on another Kamikaze run, as he swung out in front of a car, to miss a parked car in his way. The driver of the car hit his horn to express his displeasure with the skateboarder skating in his lane. Gordo offered a one fingered salute, and a gesture indicating how he thought about the encounter.

Gordo cut back to the curb, the car passed him without hesitation, and another parked car got a similar reaction from Gordo. This time the road was clear, and he didn't force anyone to hit the breaks or swerve, and Gordo didn't slow down, as he came closer to where I stood with my board at my side.

Gordo came to a stop beside me, ending up with his board in his hand, and a smile on his face. I immediately knew, my feelings for him had changed. He was no longer the adventurous daring daredevil who took me on my most ambitious sexual outing. Gordo was mainly absent from my life, and I wasn't certain he wasn't absent from his own life.

“What sup, Z?”

“You've been gone for some time, Gordo. You decided to show yourself today? I asked.

“Yes, I'm out testing the street to see if I've lost any of my skills on a board are unchanged after a few months of being off my game,” he said.

“You've been ill?” I asked.

“You might say that. Sick of jailhouse food, and sick of jailhouse games. It confirms what I've believed all along. Freedom is being on a board and taking control of your own life. I want to do what I want to do and when I want to do it.”

“You've been in jail?”

“I heard that rumor too. As you can see, I'm a free man,” he said. “I'm here to tell all that will listen, don't fuck with the man. He wins every time, you know. All the cards are stacked against you. Even the judge looked down his nose at me. No, the system isn't fair, when it comes to skaters.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I was riding my board. I do remember being in some conflict with the automobiles around me, and next thing you know there is this bodacious cop with a big hat, and he isn't interested in all those drivers of deadly automobiles, no siree. He picks on the poor helpless skater. The system isn't fair, and I told him so. He said I took a punch at him,” Gordo explained.

“That doesn't sound like you, I mean the swinging on him part. I can believe the rest of it. What were you thinking, Gordo?”

“Me, thinking? I don't believe I thought anything. He accused me of being drunk. Can you imagine that. Me, drunk?”

“Were you drunk?” I asked.

“I'm afraid I had too much to drink to tell, but there were two of those big cops with the big hats, and if I swung at him, I missed him by a mile. I ended up on the ground, where he promptly handcuffed me. He took me to the pokey. Did I mention I just got out?”

“Gordo! You aren't doing yourself any good. You aren't old enough to buy alcohol in California. How'd you get alcohol?” I asked, knowing how it was done back east.

“I do have friends, you know. Did you know there was a war on drugs, Z?” Gordo asked with all the sobriety of a judge.

“Of course I know it. It's been going on for most of my life, I think,” I said.

“Yes, and how successful have they been at keeping folks who want drugs from getting drugs?” Gordo asked with all the efficiency as a prosecutor.

“Well, they've put a couple of million people in jail, but I hear they have less trouble getting drugs in jail than they do on the street, and no one is looking to arrest them in jail,” I said.

“I rest my case. There is a law against most drugs that aren't advertised on TV, and there are laws against someone my age from getting alcohol. I have about as much trouble getting alcohol as people have getting their drug of choice,” Gordo said. “I stopped a guy outside a liquor store and gave him ten bucks to get me a pint of bourbon.”

“That's what I thought. Your friends would know better than giving a human guided missile alcohol. You obviously shouldn't drink,” I said.

“You too, Z. The whole world is against me. I want to have fun,” he said.

“How much fun was jail?” I asked. “Sleep on your back?”

“That's not funny,” he said.

“Neither is being locked up,” I said. “You won't be able to get a job if you keep it up, Gordo. Sooner or later, you'll need to go to work,” I said.

“I work. I'm a one man entertainment bureau for my older friends. They know when I show up, they're going to make out,” he said.

“That's why they don't answer the door, when they see you coming,” I said.

“I wondered about that,” he said.

“No,” Gordo continued, “I skipped breakfast. It's not real food, anyway. I think it's donated from the artificial food companies to give to inmates and homeless people,” he said.

“It's after eleven. We'll go get some egg MacMuffins. You can buy the coffee,” he said. “On account I'm broke.”

“I thought they gave you a suit of clothes and ten bucks, when you got out,” I said.

“That's prison. I was locked up in county. Half the dudes in there haven't been convicted of anything. They are waiting to go to trial, and they don't have enough money to bail out. They sit in jail for months, waiting to go to trial,” he said.

“That sounds bad,” I said.

“Try being a dude with a wife and a kid, no way to support them, and you're looking at years in jail. I felt sorry for those guys,” Gordo said. “Lots of Spanish guys, black guys. I was one of the only white dudes for most of the time, while I was inside, but I was serving time for disorderly conduct. The judge told me, I was lucky. If I'd hit that cop I swung at, he'd have given me 3 to 5, as in years.”

“I thought you had better sense, Gordo,” I said.

“I do. I was drunk. I don't know what I'm doing when I'm drunk. You'd think a judge would know that. I'm a handful when I drink, Z,” he said.

“I can believe it,” I said.

I realized that I hadn't seen Gordo in months. I'd been with Free, and then I'd been dealing with not being with Free. I hadn't circulated much until recently, and I hadn't seen Gordo, but even when I was seeing him, I didn't see him often.

My attraction to him was gone. He was too insane for anyone to want to get close to him. His life was a train wreck, and I didn't want to be on board, when it left the tracks. Even knowing him, made me fear for a time when I heard Gordo had met a tragic end. The end was already written, he just hadn't reached the end of the line yet.

We sat eating our muffins and drinking coffee on the lawn beside MacDonald's. It was a pleasant day. Mr. Hitchcock had given me the day off, on account I already had my forty hours in, and he couldn't afford to pay overtime. I hadn't had a day off since I started school last year, and now I was graduating. I think Mr. Hitchcock worried I might quit after I graduated, but my work was my life, and I liked my job. I also loved having a weekday off.

As spring set in, the weather was perfect every day. It was warm, but not hot, and it never rained in Southern California, except when it did.

A 1970s era Chevrolet, turned into the parking lot, stopping at the side of MacDonald's directly across from where we sat, and on the roof of the Chevy was a long board.

A red-headed boy jumped out of the car with all the grace of a gazelle. He had on black spandex shorts with a yellow tank top. The getup left little to the imagination, and I wanted to go over and tackle him. For the first time since Free left, my heart pounded loud enough for me to hear.

Gordo, sensing my attention had moved off him, looked at the boy who was about to enter MacDonald's.

“Down boy,” Gordo said. “You want to meet him?”

“I want to meet him,' I said, without taking my eyes off him.

“Hey, Skippy,” Gordo said in a casual speaking voice. “You too stuck up to say hello to your best bud?” Gordo asked.

Skip stopped, looking back through the door that was closing. Swing open a second later, Skip came back out, walking across the parking lot.

“As I live and breathe,” he said. “I'm totally surprised that you are still living and breathing, Gordo. You haven't killed yourself yet. I was sure you were dead by now. I guess you aren't, are you?”

“How's it hanging, Skip. Hard to tell if it's hard or soft in those shorts,” Gordo said.

“As always, on the left, and it's hanging a little low today. I haven't had a date in a month. Who is this fine looking gentleman doing with a scallywag like you? I'm Skip, and you are?” He asked.

I was trying to remember my name, and he looked me right in the eye.

“This is Z, Skip. Z, this is Skip,” Gordo said, finding a way to be useful.

“Hello!” Skip said, accepting my hand, and forgetting to let it go.

“Z's from back east, Skippy. He's new. A bit up tight, but I'm trying to help the boy,” Gordo said.

“Yes, I bet you are, Gordo. Back east, huh. East is one of my favorite directions. I'll ask again, what are you doing with this lunatic?”

“Gordo was my first love,” I said. “Before I knew what love was. Now, he's someone I know,” I said. “This is the first time I've seen him in months.”

“On account, yours truly, has been in the lockup downtown for a couple of months,” Gordo said.

“Does not surprise me a bit. I wonder how they're still letting you walk around, as crazy as you are, Gordo,” Skip said.

“I love you too. What brings you back to the wilds of El Cajon. Is the big time college boy homesick for his old stomping grounds?” Gordo asked.

“You aren't far off the track, Gordo. I've been looking for Chet. I heard he'd returned here, from where ever it was he went,” Skip said. “I lost track of him, when I went away to college. We'd been close at one time,” Skip said.

Skip was about my size. His hair was bright red. He did remind me of the guy in the halfpipe, but he was smaller, redder, and maybe slightly better looking. His surfboard had my attention. His surfboard and the car. Skip could obviously get to where the surf was, and me with a brand new board in my bedroom.

“Chet! Chet! Came back a year ago, maybe more. He's working at some restaurant. That's what I heard. I haven't caught sight of him, just heard the rumor. Where Chet shows up, the stars begin realigning themselves,” Gordo said.

“Damn if you ain't a poet, Gordo. Didn't Shakespeare write that first, before you got around to mangling it?” Skip asked.

“Bill. No, I don't recall Bill saying that to me. Could be. I heard it somewhere or other. What little I've seen of Chet, I believe it might be true about him. I heard he went to Hollywood. He was doing his thing up there. He was on his way to being a star. You know, he created his own surf, and everyone wanted to know him,” Gordo said. “Nice guy. Yeah, I heard he came back.”

“That would be Chet,” Skip said. “I heard he was back. I graduate next month, and I have no where to go. I thought I'd come back home and see what I could see. Run into Chet if I could. He slept with me at my house for almost the entire year, when I was a senior. He was two years older. I was eighteen and he was twenty the last time I saw him. Four years go by fast,” Skip said. “If he's back, I want to know it.”

“You surf?” I asked.

“I do. What gave me away?” Skip asked. “I bet you saw the surfboard.”

“I did,” I said. “Maybe we'll go sometime. Surfing.”

“Come, go, I do it all,” Skip quipped.

“I bet you do,” I said, watching the way his lips shaped his words.

“My God, just kiss him for Christ’s sake,” Gordo said.

Chapter 16

Skip

Skip gave me the biggest smile. And I gave it right back, as he exited MacDonalds. He handed me the cup of coffee I ordered, when he asked if I wanted anything. It was my day off, and too much coffee meant too many pee breaks, but today, I could stop to pee, any time I wanted.

“I just bought a surfboard,” I said. “I've never been surfing. When I came out here, my intention was to learn how to surf. I haven't even seen the Pacific.”

“You've certainly been deprived, Z. I take it, you don't have a car? Anyone who comes west, from back east, wouldn't stop until he was looking at the Pacific Ocean,” Skip said. “What is the ‘Z’ all about, Z?” Skip asked, seeming interested.

“My name is Zane,” I said, never liking it, when I said it.

“Early twentieth century writer. Zane Grey. He was a naturalist. I've seen a book with the pictures he took in it. He definitely loved the western migration. You related?” Skip asked, before biting into his quarter pounder.

“Grandfather,” I said. “He wasn't Zane Grey, but he was named Zane, and somehow I got stuck with that monicker,” I said.

“Say no more. I thought there would be some long story behind people calling you ‘Z’, Z. I can see that Z would be a better option than Zane. Do you write by any chance?”

“I do, actually. Just a journal. Just personal stuff,” I said, thinking I'd said too much.

“I bet that's a read that would steam up my glasses,” Skip said.

“You wear glasses?” I asked.

“No, but if I did, I bet your journal would steam them up. Most writers start by keeping a journal. In my creative writing class, the professor recommends keeping a journal. Many writers take things from their own lives to fortify their fiction,” Skip said. “You never know what tidbit in a story, might be right out of the author's experiences.

“That's good to know,” I said. “I'm not planning to be a writer, but I do keep a journal, and I enjoy getting my thoughts out to see them on paper. It gives them a power they don't have, when they're only in my head,” I said.

“And what does a boy, who is keeping a journal, fancy himself doing as an occupation?” Skip asked.

“Right now, I'm a grocery clerk at Hitchcock's Market. Other than that, I've mowed lawns, delivered papers, and I did odd jobs for old people back east,” I said.

“You sound smart enough to be in college,” Skip said. “No aspirations in that direction? Plenty of good schools out here.”

“Maybe later. I haven't lived enough to know what I want to do with the rest of my life, Skip. Once I've got a little experience, I might decide on something that requires college, maybe not. I'm not going to school just to go to school. It's way too expensive to not know why I'm there, or what courses I need,” I said.

“That's smart. I had no idea what I might do, when I went to college. I took a liberal arts program. I took courses in anything I ever had an interest in. I'm graduating in a few weeks, and I still don't know what I want to do. With four years of college behind me, I should be able to make an educated guess, but I'm not in a hurry. About surfing,” Skip said.

“What about surfing?” I asked.

“When do you want to go?” Skip asked.

“What time is it?” I asked.

Skip laughed.

“Time to go surfing?” Skip asked.

“I thought you'd never ask. My house, and my board, are two blocks over that way,” I said, point toward my house. “I've been here for almost a year, and I haven't seen the Pacific Ocean. So you know, my board has never see the Pacific either, but I bought it from a guy who said, 'This is your board. It'll never let you down. That's why I was working on it, when you arrived.'”

“And let me guess,” Skip said, putting his hands to his temples, acting like he had gone into a trance. “You bought your board at the Surf Shack, and a guy named...,” he was really concentrating... named..., Preacher sold it to you.”

“How'd you know that?” I asked, amazed.

“I bought my first board from Preacher, when I was sixteen. He was working on it, when I went into the Surf Shack. He told me that it was the board I wanted, and it would never let me down. It didn't, but that was two boards ago,” Skip said, biting into his quarter pounder again.

“I came out here to look around for my friend. If you want to look around with me, for an hour or so, I'll be going surfing later on. How far do you live from here?” Skip asked.

“Two blocks down, hang a left, and it's one of the houses on that street.”

“Cool enough. Let me satisfy my Mac attack, and we can ride around and look for Chet,” Skip said.

“Cool!” I said. “You do know that I'll help you look, but I have no idea who Chet is, or what he looks like,” I said.

“Did you know that Preacher was a national surfing champion, three years running. He taught some of the best surfers who ever put a board under them, how to become champions, in their own right,” Skip revealed.

“No, he didn't tell me that. He did offer to take me surfing,” I said.

“You impressed him then. He wouldn't teach anyone he didn't like, how it's done. He didn't make that offer to me, but all my buds, including Chet, used to surf. Many days, after school, You could find us where the surf was up.”

“Our engagement to go surfing does not rest on your ability to pick Chet out of a crowd. If I don't have any luck locating him, or locating someone who can tell me where to look, we'll surf the rest of the afternoon away.”

“I don't have a surfboard,” Gordo said.

“No one asked you to go,” Skip said. “You'd only drown yourself.”

“No, but I do know Chet, and I could pick him out of a crowd, even if he's never spoken more than two words to me. I know a god when I see one,” Gordo said.

“You can ride around with us. When we go to surf, you stay in El Cajon,” Skip said.

“Exactly. I'll keep my eyes open for Chet. The next time you return to your roots, I might have gathered some information on the illusive Chet,” Gordo said.

“Good plan, Watson. We'll go with that. I'll collect something else to eat, and then, we can be on our way,” Skip said. “Are you sure you don't want anything? I'm in possession of a couple of brand new twenty-dollar-bills, and they're burning a hole in my pocket. Last chance, Gordo. You're always hungry.”

“No,” Gordo said. “I just ate three egg MacMuffines. I've got one left in the bag. If Z doesn't want it, it's all yours.”

Two are plenty for me. I couldn't eat another one if you paid me,” I said.

“A little late for Egg MacMuffines. It's almost noon,” Skip said.

“He knows a guy,” I said.

“Oh,” Skip said. “I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, Gorgeous.”

“I won't,” Gordo said.

“He's talking to me,” I said. “Your handsome.”

“Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting,” Gordo said. “Your gorgeous, I'm handsome.”

Skip laughed, as he headed back into get another quarter pounder..

* * * * *

The sun was straight up in the sky, over our heads, as we bobbed in a fairly placid ocean. We rode the languid sea, waiting for surf that would not appear on a late April day.

“It's the trouble with this time of year. Everything is perfect, and the ocean is rarely angry enough to furnish good waves. You can sit for hours and barely catch site of a wave fit to ride,” Skip said.

He wore the same shorts to surf in, as he was wearing, when I met him a few hours before. There was a bathing suit, more like the typical shorts guys not wearing spandex wore. Skip stood in his open door, peeling off the spandex, before getting into his shorts. Completely naked for twenty seconds, Skip had perfect white skin. He was uncut, and while he was soft, he had plenty to work with.

I hadn't been with anyone since Free. No one had even interested me enough to take a good look. I took a very good look at Skip. He was in search of a lover from three and a half years ago, and that meant we wouldn't get serious. That didn't mean we couldn't have fun. Skip looked like he'd be a lot of fun.

Skip was as smooth as the ocean had been that day. I came to surf. He was as charming as any seascape I'd seen. He was a fine companion, teacher, and boy of interest. I gathered from what he said, we'd do this again. He was finishing college, and I was finishing high school. In less than a month, we'd both be out of education mode, with a summer straight ahead. I'd make time for Skip, even if I never caught a wave. He said nothing to contradict that idea.

We'd spent an hour on the sand, as Skip showed me the method I'd use to have my best success as a new surfer. Other boys stopped to watch him give me instructions, someone called Skip, “Red.” It was a casual conversation, and Skip seemed fine with “Red,” but the color of his hair only served to remind me of the boy in the halfpipe who had different colored red hair.

Skip was a smaller version of the guy in the halfpipe, but it was a close enough match for me to think of the guy in the halfpipe, each time I discovered Skip anew, as he chatted up other surfers and was generally a nice guy.

I'd heard stories of surfers being territorial, a little like pit bulls, who didn't want anyone who wasn't a local riding their surf, but I saw none of it. Most of the surfers out that day were as young as we were and interested in nothing more than catching a wave on a day when the surf didn't exist.

The sky, the sea, the boats sailing by, were all synchronized in a ballet of motion that went with the calm. No one was in a hurry, and surfers sat beside their friends, talking about better days, as they bobbed up and down in the ocean that wasn't about to produce what it was they were after.

I wanted to learn to surf, and that required surf, when there was none. Not knowing any better, I enjoyed bobbing up and down on rolling waves that pleased me just fine. Being there, being with surfers, was almost as good as surfing. I did not regret accepting Skip's offer to come to see the Pacific. I, unlike the other surfers, didn't know what I had been missing. In fact, I was missing nothing. I watched blond gods with bronzed skin, being playful on their boards, when they couldn't get down to business.

The sun had begun its long dip into the horizon, when Skip paddled close enough to hook his leg over top of mine, anchoring us together. I was on my stomach, and I looked at how his thigh covered mine and our faces came face to face in a most suggestive way. My immediate erection said it all. I'd have loved to have planted a big wet one on Skip, but I didn't want to get banned from surfing on my very first day. I kept my lips to myself.

“Z, I'm afraid we'll need to return another day,” Skip said. “There isn't enough action for you to get the feel of a wave, and until you do that, you have no idea what the ocean can do and be for a surfer. I promise to bring you again, but this time of year, unless a storm kicks up, we're doomed to sit in a calm sea,” he said.

“I loved it. I love all of it,” I said, looking at our legs. “This is where I want to be, Skip. I want to learn to surf, and I want to surf with you.”

Our lips did what lips do, and once he'd had a taste, he leaned to do it again. There was a whistle from one of the other surfers. Our eyes stayed lock together for a time. Like being in the curl, I can't say how long, but it wasn't long enough for me.

“When there's surf, it is the greatest show on earth, Z. This ocean is a power plant, and it generates the waves we ride, but from time to time, the ocean rests, waiting its time to release its force of nature. This is one of the days it's resting,” Skip explained and predicted in the words he used.

As we carried our boards toward the car, I saw some people playing volleyball, a little ways from the parking lot. We stopped to watch, mainly because I stopped to watch.

The guys were hard bodies and so tan, they looked like they could be people of color, but most had long, very long, blond hair, blowing on what little bit of breeze there was late in the afternoon.

I'd never seen such tanned bodies back home, and each body came with broad shoulders, and waists so small, they hardly held up their shorts, and if not for their hips, they'd furnish a view it took me all my life to locate, thousands of miles from where I was born and raised.

Skip watched my eyes. He saw the guys I studied. They were all gods. There wasn't a loser in the crowd, and I hadn't gone soft since he kissed me. As we eased along the top of the beach, Skip stopped at a spot where six boys were playing football. It was more like rough housing as they grabbed and pulled on one boy's shorts. They were older than me, bigger, and far more physical than guys back home.

As we sat in the car, pointing at the playing boys, one boy suddenly was naked. Another boy wrestled him to the ground, and then he was naked, with a taller boy triumphantly holding the second boys shorts. The wrestling didn't stop, and a third naked boy joined in, while the other boys moved back to watch.

I'd never seen anything like it. Other people on the beach watched as the three bodies slipped and slid over each other. One boy was clearly excited by the physical contact, and the other two were as close to having sex as you could get without penetration or some kind of oral stimulation. They yelled, and laughed, and a fourth boy became involved, but he had on his shorts.

“What do you think?” Skip asked.

“I don't know what to think. Don't they know what that looks like?”

“This is a gay section. Boys who are gay, and boys who don't mind gay guys, come here for exactly what you are seeing. There are a lot of fish in the sea, Z. All kinds of fish, liking all kinds of activity.”

As I watched, Skip's hand found my erection. I'm sure he'd noticed before this, but this was the right place at the right time. No one was parked around us, and Skip put his head in my lap. I couldn't take my eyes off the boys who were wrestling on the beach. More people were standing around, watching.

To say I was primed and ready was an understatement. I'd seen porn. I can tell you that I don't mind porn at all, but seeing boys wrestling naked for real was better than any porn.

“Ah, Skip, if you keep doing that, I'm going to cum,” I said, and I did.

Skip made no attempt to stop doing what he was doing, and I'd engaged in my first public sex act. It left me breathless and speechless.

Skip sat up and smiled, using his shirt to dry me off, after a wet session that ended with me almost losing my mind. I won't say I didn't prefer what Free liked most. He'd had a magnificent body, which included a perfect ass, but as mouths go, Skip had a perfect one. It fit me perfectly, and losing my mind, not to mention a load, while running my hands through his red hair was... was..., nice.

“I've wanted to do that, since, well since I first saw you. I was sure we'd get rid of Gordo, but doing that, was never far from my thoughts. When you let me kiss you, I almost did it then,” Skip said.

“I thought you let me kiss you,” I said, and we kissed.

I suppose we made out, and if we didn't make out, we kept kissing each other. Then, as we left each other alone for a minute, three guys, who were standing in front of Skip's car, began to applaud.

“More, more,” one boy said, and one of the other boys pushed him.

“That was just enough,” the pushing boy said.

I laughed as our audience left us. Skip started the car.

* * * * *

“You were a little nervous?” Skip said, once we turned back onto the 5.

“It was kind of in the open,” I said.

“We hardly attracted any attention. No one who can compete with you, anyway. Do you know how terrific you are. Everything on you is just right. You even taste good,” he said, putting his hand on mine.

“Thank you. I should return the favor,” I said.

“Not today, Z. I'm afraid that I followed you down the road of happy endings. I haven't been with anyone for so long, well. It has been a pleasure being with you,” he said.

“And Chet?” I asked.

“He was a senior. I was a sophomore. His home life sucked, so he lived at my house for most of that year. Chet is a most amazing boy. I've never been with anyone as perfect as he was, and he was a perfect lover. He held me every night, right after we did the deed. Once wasn't always enough, and I could never get enough of him,” Skip said.

“And what happened?”

“He graduated from high school. He was a pretty smart guy. One day he said he was going to L.A. That's been over four years ago, maybe five. Once I graduated from high school, my parents moved to Rancho Santa Fe. I moved with them, started college, had a life there. Then I heard that Chet was back in El Cajon, maybe for a year or more. I've been trying to find him ever since.”

“You think he'll want to pick up, where you left off?” I asked.

“Oh, I don't know. I just want to look at him. He hadn't become a man yet, and he'll make one hell of a beautiful man,” Skip said.

“He's all that? You've never forgotten him?” I asked.

“First loves are a bitch,” Skip said, looking at me.

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“What's his name?” Skip asked.

“Free?” I said.

“Free?”

“They called him Freebee. The people who knew him, called him Free.”

“Cool. I bet he was something,” Skip said.

“He was everything,” I said.

“What was your's name,” Skip asked.

“Free. I called him Free. He went by Freebee. I'd never been in love before, and I fell hard. You'll laugh. The only other guy I've been with is Gordo,” I said.

“Gordo is OK,” Skip said. “He was too young for me, and the way he acts, well, I don't blame him for being fucked up, if anyone has a right to be fucked up, it's Gordo, but he actually has toned it down a little, and I hope he'll make it, but I expect to hear that he's been over one day, when I stop in El Cajon. Gordo doesn't have an announce of sense, because that's how he was raised.”

“Well, I had a crush on him. Might have had something to do with him being the only California boy, who would talk to me, but we did a thing, twice, and for me, that was a lover affair, on account I'd never done it before.”

“You might have trouble, because you're so hot, Z,” Skip said.

“Me, hot? I don't think so,” I said.

“Think so. You've got it all, and you're so relaxed, like your a regular guy. I knew you were no regular guy. You had my pogo stick dripping,,” he said. “I can't remember the last guy to have that impact on me.”

I listened, and I didn't have anything to say, but I wasn't all that. It made me realize how differently people saw each other. I'd grown up on the East Coast, and no one gave me a second glance.

* * * * *

Even in El Cajon, few boys were ugly or lacked some feature that drew people to them. There were guys who were gruff and overpowering, like Ace, but most guys were somewhere between pleasant and nice. The hostility that was constantly close by us back east, seemed to be avoided in the places I'd been on the West Coast.

Maybe the warmer weather made for warmer people, or perhaps the cold of the Northeast made for colder, more harsh people. I was no fool, and I was good at history. For reasons that I couldn't fathom, through the ages man spent much of his time making war, but no one wanted to fight on Huntington Beach. Boys were being boys, but if there was a war to be fought, they'd probably start recruiting in the Northeast. Men were a lot more likely to fight you back home.

Since man claimed he had been civilized, much of the world had been destroyed many times over. Watching young men wrestle on a beach, and no one would hurt the other. What would be the reason? They were playing. They were having fun, and most people enjoyed playing and having fun in the land of milk and honey. I liked having fun, and I did it with no hostility for anyone. You'd never get a good war going with California boys. They'd all go surfing.

We could afford surfboards, taking the afternoon off to have fun. We played near each other without an unkind word. I wondered why so many men answered the call to go to war without a second thought. Maybe if young men were less willing to fight, it would be harder to get a good war going.

On Huntington Beach, the combat was hand to hand. The hostilities ended in laughter and invitations to go for beer. Not an unfriendly shot had been fired. Well, my shot was about as friendly as a shot gets when you shoot. I can assure you, I had nothing but kindness in my heart for Skip and the boys who played on Huntington's beach.

“It was fun,” I said.

“Sorry about the surf,” Skip said.

“I didn't mind it. I liked being there. I liked seeing all those guys. They're magnificent. Oh, we have gorgeous guys back east—don't get me wrong, but all of these guys seem to be designed with beauty in mind. All of them,” I said.

“Now you've discovered the California boys’ secret. We are descendants of the gods. We were put here on purpose to inhabit the land of fruit and nuts. None of us is any better looking than another, and we all surf well,” Skip said.

I laughed. I knew a tall tale, when I was hearing one.

He remembered where my house was, and he got out to unhook my board from the top of his car. His skin shone from being in the surf all day. His chest was no big deal, but it was well cut, and the rather red nipples were full and created a very nice effect. As chests go, Skip's was a winner.

As he handed me my board, his hand accidentally on purpose brushed me where my deepest feelings about a boy I didn't know was apparent. He stood still using his hand to massage my best and hardest part.

My eyes closed as a reflex to his indecent proposal. I'd remained dormant for some time. I'd been aroused, but there hadn't been a purpose to it until now. I had no trouble remembering Skip's lips on me as I had watched the wrestling naked boys. He did the rest, and I was ready to do it all over again.

“I'd like to take care of this problem for you,” Skip said, letting my board lean against my left side. “If you like that sort of thing. I'm told I'm good at it.”

“You were told right. My parents are home. I can't get away with sneaking you up to my room. I'm about to pass out with your hand there, and if you keep squeezing, I'm certain to have an accident.”

“We can sit in the car. I can take care of it in a few minutes, and I'll be on my way, although I've got one just like yours now,” he said, moving my hand onto the front of his expanded shorts. I returned his squeeze with one of my own, and I think he was about to kiss me, when I heard the front door open.

“Shit. Dinner's on,” I said in my father's voice.

“Z, dinners on,” my father said.

Skip began to laugh, easing up on his grip on my dick. I had more trouble letting go of his very nice presentation. Ten points for authenticity.

“I better go,” Skip said. “I don't have the energy to do your father, too.”

I laughed.

“And my mother would get in the way,” I said.

“There's enough for your friend,” my father said. “It's Mexican. We got extra tacos and those packets of hot sauce you like.”

“Oh my,” Skip said. “We seem to have gotten ourselves caught between a rock and a hard place. This calls for a strategic withdrawal. We'll live to suck another day, sweet sweet Z”

“Coming, Dad.”

“I wish,” Skip said. “The taste of honey,” he sang.

“Mostly hard,” I said. “I'll be right there, Dad.”

“Dinner is on the table, and I was hoping to eat you up, little boy. I better go before we reach the point of no return. Shouldn't give the neighbors too much to talk about on our first date,” Skip said.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so late. Maybe next time,” I said.

“Next time we'll find a place at the beach, and I’ll do you again. Just like old times. Shouldn't want to get busted going at each other here,” he said with a low sexy sound in his voice.

“When will you be coming back?” I asked.

“Soon, now that I have something to return for. You are something else, Z.”

“You're something yourself, Skip. I'm glad I met you. Thanks for taking me surfing.”

“Believe me, when I say, it's been my pleasure, Z. I'll leave now. I need to find a place to go jack-off a few times, and then I can drive home, but I won't forget you,” he said, letting go of what was now an overflowing hard-on.

I kept my board in front of me, and I watched him go. I didn't know if I'd see Skip again or not, but I'd seen him once, and for once, I'd met someone through Gordo that I was happy to know, although I didn't know if I hadn't seen the last of Skip. He had two reasons to come back to El Cajon now, and I didn't care which one brought him back, as long as he stopped at my house for a chat.

Chapter 17

Better Days

I held my surfboard in front of my shorts, because tents were out of fashion, and I was sporting one. I headed for the stairs, only to be caught by my father, before I could get to my room.

“Was that someone new?” he asked, knowing it was. Did you finally get to use your new surfboard.”

“Yeah, Dad. On both counts. Skip took me surfing. He's cool. He has a car. “Hey, Dad! What's for dinner?” I asked, wanting to change the subject fast, as I disappeared up the stairs..

I'd let my bulging relax, before I went back down to dinner. Mexican food stayed hot, whether it was heated up or not. I leaned my surfboard against the wall inside my closet, and I got a shirt that covered my crotch. Problem solved, and I was on my way back down the stairs.

I don't believe for a second, my parents hadn't had the talk, especially after Freebee became a resident of our house for a couple of months.

Brenda had told me about the looks gay lovers give each other, and she had seen the way I looked at Free, and the way he looked at me. Even though, our love affair had ended by then, I still loved Free, and I'm sure he loved me.

Keeping your distance from the man you loved wasn't easy, but even when we slept together in my single bed, there was no more sex, after the one interlude, at the begining of Free's stay at my house.

My parents both liked Free. He was clean-cut, well mannered, and my father had been impressed by Free's knowledge of mathematics. The few times my father sat down with Free, holding the mathematics section of the GED test in his lap, no sooner did he propose the question, than Free had the answer, without benefit of paper and pencil. Little about math impresses my father, because he was a mathematical whiz, but Free had impressed him, and they liked each other.

I knew why Free liked my parents. My parents are good people. They are thoughtful, and they never thought that my childhood was some judgment on them. I was a kid with traits and talent, and they treated me like it was all OK.

Free had no such relationship with his parents. His life was a mine-field. He had no one to take his problems to, and no one who acted like they cared. So, when my parents acted like they cared, Free had warmed up to them in no time.

Sharing my love with my parents, wasn't part of the deal, but I to, knew, when to leave things alone. I felt no obligation to announce to my parents, 'I”m gay.' I didn't ask them about their sex lives, why would they want to hear about their kid sucking dicks or fucking asses? They wouldn't, and I wasn't talking, if they would.

As I sat at the new table my parents had bought, I immediately looked at the empty chair, where Free once sat. No one else had sat there. I smiled, and acted like I was a happy camper, because I was. Life was great, and getting better all the time.

“Your friend wasn't hungry, Z?” Dad asked.

“No, he had to get home,” I said, not knowing how much he'd seen, or what he thought about what he'd seen.

I kissed mother on the cheek, and I sat down and began stuffing a taco into my mouth. One should not talk with his mouth full, which was one of those rules I rarely remembered, except when not talking kept me from being pinned down about something I didn't want to be pinned down about. Skippy being one.

My shorts were sticky, because of Skippy. That had me smiling, while I ate. I'd had a really good day. Not only did I meet Skippy, but I saw the Pacific Ocean in all its glory. I sat in it for several hours, waiting for a wave. I had a lot of beautiful company, which might have been the best part. California surfers were long, lean, and tan. Being there with them was unreal, because I'd seen myself with them for years with a Beach Boys' beat pounding inside my head, whether or not I was near a radio or anything that allowed them to reach their audience.

I was sure everyone was a Beach Boys' fan. The definition of the California sound, hold a picture of the Beach Boys under those words in the dictionary. Would it be nice, if it could get around? God only knows, but I did get around, and for the first time, I felt like I was a California boy.

I'd been surfing with my new best friend. I did stand up on my board one time. I felt it under me. I felt the hardly adequate wave push my board. It wasn't much, but it was a start. I would become a surfer. I was a skater. I could be a skater anywhere. I finally belonged to the California culture. I was part of the scene. I was part of what was happening.

“What?” I asked, hearing my father's distant voice.

“Do you work tomorrow? You said Mr. Hitch cock gave you the day off,” he said.

“Oh yeah. We had two big deliveries early in the week, and I stayed to get everything on the shelves. He wants to keep me around 40 hours,” I said.

“He mentioned that. I hope he's OK financially. He's a good boss, Zane. He thinks the world of you,” Dad said.

“He's OK. If I got to work, I'd rather work for him,” I said.

“While you are considering your future, I hope,” Mom said.

“Always, Mom,” I said.

I was having trouble considering tomorrow. I knew what the answers were to the standard questions. I'm sure my parents knew the proper answers to their questions by heart, but they didn't know if I had plans beyond Hitchcock's Market.

“Why didn't your friend come in, so we could meet him?” Mom asked, before I could grab my next taco. .

“He had to get home, Mom,” I said.

“You enjoyed yourself surfing,” Dad asked, knowing it was the first time I made it to the ocean.

“It was a good experience. It'll take time to learn to do it properly, but I think I want to spent some more time surfing, now that I've met someone who can get me to the surf. He said he'd take me again,” I said.

“You spoiled us, when you took up with Free. He was a fine boy, Z. None of your friends back home was that friendly around us, and he was smart. Free is a bright kid,” Dad said.

“Dad, he went into the navy. Free's not a kid,” I said.

“I know, but when you get to forty, anyone under thirty is a kid, and Free was a likable sort.”

“Your father is just a big kid, who objected to the idea of growing up,” my mother said.

“Don't tell our son that, Gwen. I liked having fun. I had good friends, and we partied. You don't just suddenly fall in love one day and forget what your life is all about,” Dad said.

“You partied, Dad?” I asked, turning the interrogation onto my father.

“Some. We didn't get obliterated the way kids do these days,” Dad said.

“Roy, your nose is going to grow, if you don't look out. You've forgotten about Lee Carroll. I don't think I ever saw him sober,” Mom said.

“Lee had his problems. He had it pretty bad at home. Like a lot of people, he self-medicated,” Dad said, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

My parents never argued in front of me, but I'd heard them arguing out of sight in our apartment back home. I found their memories, and the idyllic things they told me, were suspect. I hadn't heard about my father being a party boy, and I wanted to hear more..

“He drank too much, and he was a drunk,” Mother said.

“Have it your way, Gwen. I'd hate to carry around the weight that kid carried. I was surprised he survived to grow up. We often talked about him drinking himself to death,” Dad said.

“I don't know how anyone can drink enough of that nasty stuff to get drunk,” I said.

I left out, “Give me a joint every time,” but I didn't like grass that much either. It made me feel out of control, and every time I thought about being out of control, I saw Gordo. If anything could convince me to never drink or do drugs, it was Gordo. He was a mess.

Free came from a harsh upbringing, but he was polite, friendly, and he adapted to whatever environment he found himself in.

My parents didn't know that I was gay, and the subject hadn't come up. I had girlfriends, girl friends, back home, and that was enough to make my parents think that I was traveling a straight and narrow path, but I wasn't being sexual with anyone back home.

The risk outweighed the reward, because I had no idea what the reward was, until I met Free. Free gave me what I knew would excite me beyond anything I'd known up until Free came along, and he took me with him.

Nobody took me with him before, and now, Skip had come along, looking like the boy with auburn hair. Skip was shorter with redder hair, and I'd follow him anywhere. My engines had been running at idle, since Free left, but today, my engines were firing on all cylinders, and the possibilities were endless.

Skip took me with him to show me something about surfing, and he had. I knew that all I needed to do is put together what he showed me with some surf and my surfboard, and I'd be in business. By the time I was thirty, I might even be a surfer other surfers would talk about, but I'd yet to catch my first wave.

Skip had done something else for me, and as reluctant as I was to take another lover, I was not opposed to being loved. Skip knew where to take me to get me primed and ready, before satisfying the need I had and refused to satisfy.

Not only was I reluctant to get involved, but I'd never have done it in public, had Skip not taken the decision out of my hands. I could have stopped him. No, I couldn't have stopped him. It was too entirely wonderful to stop. No one had seen us, and I doubt I'd have cared if someone did. Skip was very, very good.

I think the first time my eyes fell on Skip, I knew we were on a one-way trip to one of the most passionate encounters I'd ever have. It took longer for Skip and me to engage in a sex act than it did for me and Free. The result was similar.

Skip was ready to take me anywhere I wanted to go, while we stood in front of my house, in front of God and our neighbors, and I almost fainted, which had nothing to do with God and my neighbors. Only my father saved me from releasing the ultimate flood, which I'd have had a hell of a time explaining.

Since Free left, no one I saw was able to get me aroused. My heart wasn't in it, and my sex drive had driven off for parts unknown. Sex didn't interest me, but that was a phase, and that phase passed. I was in love, and writing the words make me wonder, “How was I in love,” and yet I did not know love. As mysteries go, this one has no solution. How can you be in love without knowing love?

I was young. When it came to love, I was a novice, but that didn't make love any less powerful. It had the power to carry away my body and my mind. I would have lived for Free. I would have died for Free.

He became the center of my life. No one did that before. I was alone a lot, before Free, and now I was alone again. What was the point? What was love, and where did our love go?

On the outside, I appeared to be calm and reserved. On the inside, I was a jumble of contradictions and confusion. Each time I was sure I'd figured it all out, two and two added up to five. Everyone knows that's wrong. Why do I keep coming up with five? How do you ever figure out what's going on?

“Zane,” Mom said.

“Huh?”

“I asked you if you've heard from Free lately?” she asked.

“Oh, no. He sent a card on my birthday. It's the last time he wrote,” I said.

“I'm sure the navy keeps him jumping,” Dad said.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” I said.

“He was pleasant to have around. I kind of miss him,” Mom said.

“Me, too,” I said. “He was a nice kid.”

I heard my father's words coming out of my mouth. I cringed. He wasn't a kid. He was my lover, and that was that.

Once I admitted that I was gay, it became more clear, why I kept to myself. I'd hung with the same skaters all through middle school and high school. They'd given me some cheap and unexpected thrills, but nothing more. While two in the group I ran with were labeled “queer bait,” I wasn't about to touch one.

Meeting guys like Gordo, and his harem, and then, Free, with his equally easy going style, opened my eyes to the possibilities. I was holding out for Free to return and to only have eyes for me, but he'd sent a couple of pictures taken in the barracks. The guys were all in their skivvies, with their arms wrapped around each other. Free as in the middle of the gathering, and all those navy men were looking at my lover. Two of them were built like brick hothouses. Two others were built more like Free, and one was short and with less of a tightly packed body. No gay guy was going to miss the intimacy they had for each other. They all looked relaxed and at home with each other. Maybe I should reconsider the military as a career. I wouldn't have any difficulty finding a few good men.

In one picture, a tall gangly boy with buckwheat-colored hair, had his arm over Free's shoulder. There bodies were pressed together. Free said his name was Garner. He was from Wyoming. I'd heard the only things that came from Wyoming were steers and queers. Garner did not look like a steer to me.

The thought that Free could hold out and come home, only having eyes for me, was foolish. I'd heard stories about basic training, and the guys you became tight with. Seeing the boys he was with shirtless and all but naked, didn't reenforce my hope that Free would return. In fact, I didn't see him coming back. His future was as a navy man, and the only thing in El Cajon he had was me.

Responding to Skip the way I did, well Free had been gone for months by the time he sent pictures of his buds. It was about time for boot camp to end. If Free was coming back to me, he'd come back after boot camp. He said that he'd get leave after boot camp was over.

I wouldn't go head over heels for someone else until after he finished boot camp. I wouldn't kick Skip to the curb, even if Free came home. A bird in the hand, was worth more than all those birds in the bushes. We'd see.

I'd gone without for too long to cross anything off as a lost cause. I was able to attract other boys, and I was grateful for that. I wasn't sure other boys would like me enough to want to go to bed with me, and now I was sure. I didn't have a vast education, but I'd seen enough of Gordo, Free, and now Skip, to know which side my bread was buttered on. I'd be cautious and available.

I'd stay cool, because I wasn't sure what might happen.

It was the following week, and a week before Free finished boot camp, he called. I was delighted to hear his voice, but my happiness was short lived.

“Hey, Z. It's me. How are you?”

“Fine, I'm fine, Z. I'm going to be an officer. They're sending me to officers school as soon as I'm done with boot. I'm going to be an 0-1. That's a lieutenant, or what they used to call an ensign. Can you believe it?”

“No, Free, I can't. I'm happy for you,” I said.

“You don't sound all that happy,” Free said.

“I was looking forward to seeing you, but I guess this means I won't be seeing you anytime soon,” I said.

“I'll be home after I become an officer. I've got to go to school. They're holding a spot for me in their computer weapons systems section. They think I'm smart. Can you believe that. I sure have them fooled,” he said.

“You are smart, Free. Just because you had a shitty life and didn't finish school, never had anything to do with your intelligence. It had to do with bad parents, Free. You're one of the smartest people I know, and I'm not the only one who says that you're smart. Brenda Hitchcock told me that she thought you were a very bright guy. Now you go to that school, and you become the best officer they've ever laid eyes on, you hear.”

“I will, Z. I will,” he said, and I could hear guys talking in the background. “We're heading off base to a joint that caters to navy recruits. I got go, Z. Nice talking to you.”

'Yeah, nice,” I said, hanging up the phone.

It was no surprise. I had figured all along, Free coming home after basic training was a dream we shared, but the navy didn't necessarily condone such free thinking or any freedom at all that didn't put the navy first.

Even realizing that Skip had shown an interest in me, didn't perk me up that evening. Once again, I'd throw myself into my work and pretend I didn't love Free. I'd miss him. Free was becoming a man, and it looked like he would become a real big success.

I thought of Free a lot. I thought of how well we went together. I thought of how handsome he was. Looking at the pictures he sent from boot camp, I could see the way the other guys looked at him. He was a popular guy, and what wasn't to like about him. They couldn't find a better friend, and he was hot in bed, although I didn't think he'd be giving any demonstrations in boot camp, but he'd given me dozens of demonstrations that I'd never forget.

There was a pattern that went with his announcement. First, he'd sent me pictures of guys he was with. He knew what I'd see, when I looked at him in those pictures. In his voice, there was no indication that he'd just learned about officers school. He'd known he was being considered, and so did those other guys know. In the pictures, they looked up to him. I could see it in their faces. What were the chances that none of them were gay?

The phone call was a step in a process of Free leaving me. He had strong feelings for me. He wanted to let me down as easily as he could, but Free was inhabiting a different world know. In Free's world, it was all about his future in the U.S. Navy, and in my world, it was about the boy I once loved.

Brenda asked me what was wrong, one night when I stayed late to put up the stock. Mr. Hitchcock put me on salary. He couldn't afford to pay me to be there ten and twelve hour days. A raise went with it, but I didn't care about the money. It kept my mind off Free.

Each time I was sure I was over him, something pulled me back into the realization that we'd loved each other, and now love was gone. Even the idea that Skip might come by for me one day didn't lift my spirits. Love was here, and now it's gone. Love! Love! Love!. How did so many survive having loved and lost?

I wasn't working because I loved to work, I was there to keep my mind occupied. Work was where I found peace. I could put up stock, unload trucks, and sweep and mop the floors without thinking of Free more than a hundred or two hundred times a day.

I got two more letters from Lieutenant Anthony Wentworth, before the letters stopped. He was being shipped to Japan the last time I heard from him. He'd be there for two years, and he'd learn the weapons systems on every ship that came into port.

Free had turned out to be a real big success, but he'd been a real big success for me, before the navy got a hold of him. I wondered where Garner was going to be stationed. I didn't figure he'd be stationed near any steers.

* * * * *

Skip was another matter. If Skip returned to El Cajon, I didn't see him, and he didn't stop at my house, while I was home. After two months, I had once again gotten Free behind me. It was plain to see, he'd never leave that special place in my heart, where first love resided, but I knew Free was gone for good.

I wasn't sorry he stopped writing. He described his insane schedule to me in his first letter after going to officer's candidate school. They had him pegged for a new type of sailor, who could work on every kind of computer. With Free on board a ship, they'd never have a systems failure that could disabled the ship. Free was able to track down and find a fix for almost any problem. It was the new navy with every system being computerized, and few fail safe, beyond the computer weapons officer, the most important man on a war ship after the captain.

I got a formal invitation to attend Lt. Wentworth's graduation from OCS. I got another note, saying the same thing his letter said. He'd be stationed in Japan. He'd learn weapons systems on every boat that came into port.

I saw Free with a beautiful Japanese boy. He'd look at Free with starry eyes.

I wiped away my tears. Free had come along, when I needed him most. There was no way for me to be cynical about the love he gave me. Once I found Free, I knew that I could be loved, when I didn't know that for sure.

I wouldn't be going to his graduation. When it was time to let go, I let go. It was over now, and Free had let me down as easily as he could, and now I was on my own. I knew there were other boys, and I knew I'd love again, but that first love, it was truly special, and I wished my lover the best of everything.

Goodbye Free!

* * * * *

Just like I had to give up Free, I gave up on Skip, after a few months, when I didn't cross his path. I thought we connected in a special way, but a guy who looked like Skip, probably made connections with vulnerable guys every day. I was a guy who crossed his path, and whom he soon forgot. I didn't forget him.

Skip wasn't a guy, a guy like me forgot. I'd attracted Gordo, and I didn't regret it at the time, but Gordo was so fucked up, no one could get close to him. Gordo was desperate to make a connection with anyone, but he was too crazy to attract anyone. Gordo was a train, running full speed, toward the end of the line.

Free and I fit together like a hand in a glove. Free was comfortable. He was fun to be with, and no one ever took me further, or higher, than Free took me, although Skip came close to having the same kind of impact on me.

I was nineteen-years-old, and I may not have been grown, but I was growing up. I'd been set in my ways, back home. My life was about doing the same thing every day. I did the same thing everyone else did. I dressed like them, I acted like them, and we hung together.

Once I was in California, I wasn't like anyone. Nothing I did back home, my routines, simply had no place where I now lived. I had to learn the ways of California boys, and I was learning. I attracted guys, and people were beginning to recognize me.

I had a job. I'd had a lover, and my parents were cool. If I could attract a guy like Skip, not to mention Free, but Free was gone, I wasn't without the ability to attract guys. I learned as I went along, and I no longer needed to hurry. Love would find me again, and until it did, I'd go about my business.

Perhaps I was just vulnerable enough to fall victim to his warm friendly charm. Perhaps I was just horny, and Skip touched me in a way it was hard to forget, but he'd forgotten, and I was back where I started.

I had a surfboard and no way to get to the surf. My father said he'd co-sign for me to get a used car we both agreed on, but my mother and father had been signing for me for my entire life. I had a job, and if I couldn't get a car on my own, I wouldn't get a car, and that was before I found out how much insurance cost for a boy my age. I didn't want to buy the insurance company. I needed insurance to own a car. The car idea was short-lived.

There were guys with cars, but Skip was the first guy I met with a car. Most of the skaters I knew were lucky to be able to afford a skateboard. Only because skateboarders belonged to a culture were they able to keep a skateboard under them. If you broke your board, and it couldn't be fixed, the board fixer would find a suitable board and give it to you. We were all skaters, and it was unthinkable to leave a skater without a board.

It's why I was a skater. There was community involved. I was part of something, when I wasn't part of anything else. I knew I lived in the greatest country ever to exist on earth, even if it was misguided, and too violent for people who weren't violent, and would never go to fight another useless war.

America was a dream men had, when it was dangerous to dream anything that went beyond what you were told you could dream. The men who created America were traitors to the crown. Had they been taken prisoner, they'd have been hung, side by each. Adams hung beside Jefferson, beside Washington, beside Madison and Monroe. These men dreamed a dream that could have ended up with them being executed. I dreamed I was no longer alone.

With all the history that was written, why didn't someone write about how not to be alone. I'd read books that told me that kingdoms fell because of love. Maybe there'd be less dramatics if I wanted a good friend. A good friend worked. I could give up on love for a while. I was grown up enough to do that, and I could wait for love to find me.

Having a friend to run with, in the mean time, wasn't a bad idea.

* * * * *

I had planned to skate to the patch of lawn beyond the mall on Broadway, but by the time I got off from work, I didn't feel like watching skaters skate by. I went home instead, and parked in front of my house was an old, but in good condition, 1970s Chevrolet. On top was a surfboard. Leaning against the passenger door, staring at my house, was Skip.

I felt a rush and then a letdown. Where'd he been for so long. If he was going to come back to take me out, what took him so long to get around to it. Had he worked his way through all the boys in California, and now it was my turn again?

By the time I skated up to him, I was mad as a hornet. He had a lot of nerve. Coming around when he was hard up, thinking I was easy. Well, I wasn't that easy. He could go to hell for all I cared.

“Hey,” he said. “I've been thinking about you.”

“I'm surprised you had time. Run out of boys to seduce?” I asked.

“Boys? Seduce?” he asked, and then he understood what I was getting to. “Oh, I was up to my butt in tests, papers to write, and finals to take. For the month after we met, I hardly left my dorm, but the hard work paid off. I graduated with honors. Then, believe it or don't, my parents gave me a ticket to Australia. Dude, have you ever seen the surf in Australia? Of course you haven't. It's awesome, dude. One perfect wave after another. One perfect surfer after another. That place was hot, and I don't mean the weather. It was winter down under,” Skip said.

“Australia,” I said, having no idea about it. “You were in Australia? It's like halfway around the world. That sounds expensive.”

“Not really. You find guys who are going from beach to beach. I met two French dudes, and a guy from Taiwan. They were traveling together. They'd all just graduated from college. They had room for one more, and we tooled around Australia, surfing every beach we could fine, for the past six weeks.”

“Sounds awesome,” I said.

“Man, it was awesome. I thought I was a fair surfer before. After surfing every day for over a month, I can ride my board through the head of a needle.”

I laughed.

“I guess I can forgive you for not getting in touch. I bet phones were in short supply on some of those beaches,”

“They were, and you didn't give me your phone number,” Skip said.

“Yeah, I'm new at the dating game. I never thought it was a good idea to give you my phone number. I'm glad you had a good time. I'm glad you were able to graduate,” I said, leaning on the car beside him, letting my arm and shoulder touch his arm and shoulder.

Skip gave me a big smile. I smiled back. Skip was back in town.

Got anything to do tomorrow. It's too late to go surfing today, but we could go tomorrow. I have thought about you, Z. I like you, and as boys go, I don't like that many. We should see more of each other, now that I'm back.

Maybe we should play it by ear. We'll see how it goes. I've already got a lot of hours in this week, and a day off to surf sounds like a good plan. Maybe there will even be some surf this time.

“There is surf. I spent the day at San Onofre. The surf was good, and that coming from a guy who has just been surfing the best surf in the world.”

“Sounds like a date,” I said.

“Tomorrow's a long time away. What about tonight? It's too early for dinner.”

“Yes, it is. I was going to hang out, but I decided to come home.”

“Glad you did,” he said.

“Me, too,” I said.

Chapter 18

Egg Roll Heat

Skip arrived at my house in his little Deuce Coupe a little after ten in the morn, because he wanted to miss rush hour. We strapped my board to the top of his car. We drove past where the gigantic nuclear power plants stood. We'd seen them on our trip to Huntington Beach, but we passed them at seventy miles an hour, and they looked surprisingly unsubstantial at seventy miles an hour.

The nuclear power containment buildings were huge, when you are traveling at walking speed. As we sat on our board, facing them at San Onofre, I couldn't help but wonder how much waste water leaked unnoticed into the Pacific.

While we waited to catch our wave, I wondered if enough escaped to manufacture some huge green hairy creature, that would one day appear from the depths, consuming surfers as it came ashore. They did that all the time, according to the Japanese movies I saw.

The surf was up, and when you sit on your board, and you see it for the first time, it's intimidating. A force of nature is unleashed, and mere mortals intend to harness its power and ride it like you might ride an unbroken bronco.

The first wave I caught took me half way to the beach, before it nearly drowned me. I got seriously acquainted with the bottom of the Pacific Ocean on my first ever successful attempt at riding on top of my board, before I was dragged under it for some distance.

Besides losing a little skin on one of my sides, I was none the worst for wear. I began wondering what the attraction was. The Beach Boys made it sound so easy. I needed to let settle the portion of the Pacific Ocean I drank, before trying another wave.

“You OK?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to practice falling off my board,” I said.

Skip laughed.

“That's the spirit,” he said.

Yeah, that was the spirit all right. I'd be a spirit if I drowned.

“OK, not the first wave, not the second wave, but the third wave is our wave. You'll ride this one. I'll catch it with you. This is your wave, Z. I can feel it in my bones.”

I followed the same routine to stand up on my board. This time I felt my feet touching the surface. I felt my board in a way I hadn't before, and Skip was maybe ten feet away. He'd caught the same wave. He was yelling like crazy, but I couldn't hear a word. I did my best to balance myself, letting my arms help this time. I was scared this time. What's the worst that could happen? I could drown. If I did drown, I wouldn't be worried about big hairy things coming to get me.

This wave wasn't quite as big as the previous wave I caught, which made it feel like an easier ride. By the time we were approaching the beach, and I'd moved several times, keeping my arms out. I was a real big success. We were having, fun, fun, fun, now.

I made a graceful exit off my board, stumbling on something below the surface. Lord, I hope it wasn't a surfer.

I was standing up and recapturing my board when Skip rolled over top of me. He knocked me down, and I was sitting in two feet of water, if you didn't count the five foot waves that were rolling over us.

“I was trying to keep my bathing suit dry,” I said in a fake anger.

“You did it, dude. You did it,” Skip said, and he jumped on me again.

He needed to stop doing that. He had me aroused. I'd ridden my first wave, and it no longer seemed like such a big deal. Of course I could surf. I was a California boy. All California boys surf. It's required.

It took until I was out past the breakers, and lying on my board again, before I felt the feeling of satisfaction that went with success. Before I left Massachusetts, I tried to imagine myself as a California boy. To be one, you had to successfully surf at least once.

My tutors, the Beach Boys, didn't describe it perfectly, but they caught what you felt, once you were on your wave. Like so much of California culture, teenager style, they outlined it for us, allowing us to capture it on our own terms.

California wasn't so much a thing, as it was an illusion, until you were here, and once you were here, it was bigger than I thought. The people were nicer than I thought they'd be. The weather was better than anyone could imagine, but I was warned, be careful what you say, or someone will come and pave paradise, and make it into a parking lot.

So, for anyone reading this journal, California is OK. No great shakes, you know. You can do this, or that, and I suppose, if you want to do it, it's OK. The weather, well it's too hot, or too cold, when it isn't just right, but it's just right a lot. I have to admit that. I thought there would be a lot to do, once I got here, and I guess there is, but I often have nothing to do, but look into the azure blue skies, and wait for the weather to change, and I'm told, it does change. Most people can remember a day, when the weather did change, until it went back to being perfect every day.

I wouldn't recommend anyone follow me out here, because I don't thing California needs any more parking lots. I don't have a car, so I don't notice them much, but I'm new, and I'll probably change my opinion, one day, when I have time to give it some thought.

San Onofre left me turning all the lights out in my bedroom, before I was ready for bed, but after dark. I wanted to see if I might glow. I didn't seem to be glowing, but I don't know what it looks like when someone does glow. Maybe it's easier to see from a distance.

I didn't like the bottom at San Onofre, and I did get acquainted with it several times. Actually, I didn't like the bottom at San Onofre, because of those containment towers. I didn't want to admit that something I couldn't see scared the shit out of me, but I'd seen mushroom clouds photos, and I wasn't sure if there would be a mushroom cloud if one of those things blew its stack, but it really didn't matter if you were surfing there at the time.

We went to Redondo the next time and then to Manhattan Beach. Skip said he'd take me to Zuma, but, while we passed San Onofre every time we went up the 5, we didn't surf there again. I liked it a lot more at seventy miles an hour.

Skip had been the perfect gentlemen. We'd had a great summer. He couldn't get enough of surfing, and I had come to accept it as another thing I liked doing. One day, after the surfing was done, we'd gotten back into his Chevy, and he took a long look at me. I could feel the heat coming off him. Skip was hot.

He slid over to my side of the car, threw his arms around me, and we made out long enough for me to be dizzy, when it stopped. Then he sat so close our eyes nearly touched. His eyes weren't blue. They were such a light green that I thought they were blue. Maybe they changed color. Maybe he wore contacts.

“I couldn't wait any longer,” Skip said. “I've been waiting for you to find me irresistible, and then you'd rape me, but I'm tired of waiting, Z. If we're going to keep seeing each other, I've got to have you. We've got to do more than surf, as much as I love to surf.

“I don't know how to make the first move, Skip. I don't know when the time is right, and like the night my father interrupted us, I worry about the things that can go wrong,” I confessed.

“Nothing will go wrong, Z. I won't allow it. I want to make love to you. Not just give you head, but make love like it means something special has grown up between us,” Skip said.

“Oh, it grows every time I see you,” I said. “I really like you, Skip. I won't say love, because love is too complicated, and we always have fun together. No point in complicating things.”

“You are something, you know,” Skip said. “I know we are going to ride off into the sunset together, but I like you more than anyone I've met in a long time. No, love isn't the word, but like a lot comes closest to describing it,” Skip said.

Of course, I wanted Skip in the worse way, and I got my wish, but this time I knew, we were not lovers. Yes, we made mad passionate love, and then we did it again. Skip was very good, and he'd had experience. He was older, wiser, and he too knew that our friendship was not a love affair. Neither of us said it, but we knew it was true.

The time came when Skip was expected to do something with his college education. His parents were smart enough to know, after so many years of school, and so many years of applying himself, their son needed the summer off to surf and travel anywhere he wanted to go.

The summer was coming to an end. Skip's father had taken his son aside to explain how he saw his son's future. You're going to go to work for someone in town. I will not pave the way for you. I want you to be on your own, as far as work is concerned. Stick it out for two years, and I'll open my own investment firm, and we'll go into business together.

Skip's father worked for an international investment firm. He'd made his millions moving money around. He was a vice president in the firm, and a candidate to take over the top job within the next five years. His father didn't want the top job, or the jet, or the pampered that care with it. Because the headaches, and pressure, had killed two CEO's that Skip's father knew.

Once it was time, Skip put on a suit, took out his transcripts, and he began to search the San Diego vicinity for the right job.

By that time we were talking on the phone every night. He promised to come by, but he had to find a job first. He'd had his fun, and now it was time to apply himself, so he had something to look forward to.

Skip's family had been middle class, while living in El Cajon. His father was an investment broker, making inroads in a fortune 500 company. As he moved up the food chain at his firm, they moved into the Rancho Bernardo upper middle class. They sent their son to a good college, and once Skip proved himself, his future was with his father's firm.

I was a stock clerk in a small grocery store. While I wasn't going to stay at Hitchcock's for the rest of my life, I might stay there for the foreseeable future.

I was in no hurry to get where I was going, where ever that was. I was having a hell of a good summer, even while working full time, because Skip had nothing to do but see that he showed me a good time.

We were friends. I didn't know why, but it didn't matter, because Skip was one of the nicest guys I'd ever met. As California boys went, he was one. The Beach Boys didn't sing any songs about him, but he fit into a few of their songs.

* * * * *

I skated down passed the mall to the patch of grass on the far side at about three one afternoon.

“Ralph.” I said.

“Hi, Z. You look pleased with yourself,” he said.

“I am pleased. Isn't life wonderful, Ralph.”

“I guess that depends on who you ask,” he said. “For some of us, life sucks big ones.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Anything I can do for you?”

“You mean it” he said too quickly for him to be thinking it over.

“Name it. Your wish is my command,” I said blithely.

“Do you have a gun?” Ralph asked, as serious as a judge.

“Why would I have a gun? Is there going to be a war?” I asked, still unconcerned.

“You'll need it to shoot my mother, and then, rob a bank, and give me the money. That's what you can do for me.”

I was speechless a thirteen-year-old could think that way. Ralph seemed like one of the nice guys. Had I missed something.

“You're just like everyone else. You got it good, so you think I got it good. Well, I don't. Life sucks, and I'm the sucker. You got your job, plenty of money. You go surfing with your boyfriend. If I had your life, I'd think life was peaches and cream, too.”

“Ralph, in spite of what it's like for you now. It will get better, because you're a cool kid. You set me back on my heels with your talk of killing and robbing, but you are stuck with what you have, until you're a little older.”

“If I get a little older. My mother's a disaster. CPS took me once. They locked me up with some real pieces of work. You know what a kid my size does, when a six foot kid, weighing two hundred pound, tells you to do something?”

“I can't imagine it. What did you do?” I asked.

“I did what they told me to do, and when they finished with me, they sold me for a dime, a cigarette, whatever, until they wanted me again,” Ralph said.

“Sexually?” I asked.

“What do you think? Where are you from? Anyway, I ran the first chance I got. I hid out, until my mom got sober for the first time during my lifetime. She noticed her checks got smaller when the 'brat' wasn't around,” he said. She's my mother. She's supposed to take care of me. CPS came to get me. My mother got a lawyer to stop them, and so now she gets her extra cash, and I stay away from her. I sleep in the storm drains, like Gordo, John, Ace, and those dudes.”

“John said that you were in school,” I said.

“I go to school. As far as they're concerned, I live at home. I shower in gym, and I get clothes from Father Carroll's, downtown. I do OK,” he said.

I was doing better before I stopped to talk to Ralph. Why didn't someone do something for the kid. I knew kids steered clear of CPS, no matter how concerned they were for the welfare of kids. They didn't have the time or the money to protect the kids in their custody. It was not a secret in Massachusetts, and no one could live under a bridge in the dead of winter.

“You hungry?” I asked.

“Does a fish swim?”

“My parents are cool. They always bring home dinner, during the week. There's plenty for you, if you want to come with me. I want to help you Ralph,” I said, knowing help for a kid like Ralph took way more smarts than I had.

It was Chinese night, and both my mother and father raised an eyebrow, when they met my dinner guest.

“You're shorter than the last dinner guest Zane brought home,” Dad said.

“It's on account I haven't grown up yet,” Ralph parried. “There's a height requirement to eat here. Z didn't say anything about that.”

“No, no requirements,” my father said, looking at me.

“He was trying to be funny,' my mother said.

“Zane usually hangs older boys to dinner with him,” Dad said.

“Dad, he doesn't know who Zane is,” I said.

“I do, too,” Ralph corrected. “You think I'm stupid. Z is for Zane.”

“Bingo,” Mom said.

“What are these things?” Ralph asked, pointing at the egg rolls.

“Egg roll.”

“Don't look like no egg I ever seen,”

“It's good,” I said. “Don't put too much of the mustard on it, and you'll like it. They've got good stuff inside.”

“What kind of good stuff?” Ralph asked.

“Ancient Chinese secret,” I said, leaning to whisper it.

My parents both laughed, as Ralph bit into the egg roll on his plate. His face took on a odd look, as he chewed it. Then he chewed a little faster, and his eyes began to show some sign of recognition.

“Those Chinese are pretty clever. It's good. I like it,” Ralph said, taking another bite, as my parents watched.

“If you put just a little bit of this mustard on your egg roll, it gives it an entirely different flavor,” I said.

I may as well have said that you need to slather it with mustard, because he slathered it with mustard. Cutting it with his fork, he took it into his mouth. It confirmed what I'd suspected all along. It doesn't take long to look at an egg roll, and in a flash, it was back on his plate.

Both of my parents had small smiles, understanding Ralph's condition, quite well, because I'd been just like him at thirteen. Tell me don't, and I couldn't wait to do whatever it was, but Ralph was a trooper. He used his fork to get the mustard off the bite he spit out, and it went right back into his mouth. This time he chewed carefully, and he liked it a lot more with a lot less mustard on it.

“Here,” I said, giving him the fresh egg roll I just put on my plate. “I'll take the rest of that one off your hands for you. I like the mustard, but it's best enjoyed in small amounts. The Chinese know how to spice up a dish.”

I took the piece of egg roll covered in mustard off his plate, replacing it with a fresh crisp one. Ralph smiled for the first time, and he seemed to relax. Ralph ate a little bit of everything, which surprised me, but it shouldn't have. The kid was living under a bridge. He'd probably eat grass if you put taco sauce on it.

“Where do you live, Ralph,” Mom asked. “Why aren't you home eating dinner. I mean we're delighted to have you. I was just wondering.”

Ralph looked at me, turning his head. I nodded once, realizing the third degree was coming, because of Ralph's age. My parents had already thought about the legal questions concerning me taking up with a child. The only way I would be allowed to bring him home, was if my parents knew the truth.

“I don't live at home,” Ralph said politely, folding his hands in his lap, knowing there would be more questions.

I figured, the kid will either bolt and run, or he won't. I intended to help him, but I wasn't sneaking him into my room. Although, he needed a bath, and I was definitely taking him up to my bathroom, where he could take one.

My mother used her fork to cut up the food on her plate not buried in rice.

“Why isn't a boy your age living at home?” Dad asked.

Ralph turned his head to look at me. I nodded.

“My mother's a drunk,” Ralph said, and my mother had to cough into her napkin, while digesting this tidbit.

“Where do you live?” Mom asked, reluctantly.

Ralph certainly was direct. He looked at me. I interceded on his behalf.

“He lives under a bridge near Hitchcock's Market. Several boys live there. Some boys are older, and they take care of Ralph. Protect him from harm.”

“There are places that will help him,” Dad said. “I can look into it.”

“No, you can't, Dad. You know as well as I do, the state lacks the funds and the will to help kids who can't live at home. He's been that route, and the same thing happened to him that happens to smaller boys. If he doesn't cooperate, they beat the hell out of him, and take what they want, anyway. Don't tell me you haven't heard the stories. I've heard them, and I'll help Ralph if I can.”

“I know of kids who went into state custody, back home. I didn't like the things I heard, but Zane, there are laws, and we can't knowingly break laws,” Dad said, looking at me, and then Ralph.

“The laws are wrong, too, Dad. If they can't properly care for kids, educate them, protect them, they need to leave kids alone to figure it out on their own. Ralph is smarter than I am. He's a cool kid. Thinking of him being victimized by the other kids, not so nice kids, who are also in state custody.”

“When I try to live at home, mother's boyfriends, wanting a good time, and not getting it because my mother's passed out, they think I'll do in a pinch.”

“Oh, my God,” Mom said, getting up and going into the kitchen.

Dinner was over. Ralph could stay the night, but Dad was going to investigate what could be done to improve Ralph's situation.

Ralph shrugged, like he'd heard it all before. He reached for another egg roll.

“These are good, you know,” he said, taking a tiny bit of mustard and putting it directly into the middle of the bite he cut for himself.

Ralph was totally cool, which is more than I could say for my mother, but the truth was often something unpleasant to hear, when you're good people.

Ralph was reluctant to go up stairs with me, after we had ice cream and cake mom dug out of the freezer. We watched television, and then I told him he could take a bath before we went to bed.

“Go to bed? I ain't sleeping with you. I don't let guys touch me that I don't know,” he said.

“You’re safe,” I said. “I'm with someone.”

I didn't tell him I hadn’t seen him in nearly a week.

“Give me a break. Half the guys who try to get me are married, and the other half are involved with several people. Don't matter when someone wants it.”

“Matters to me. You're safe here, Ralph,” I said.

He took his bath and put on my pajama tops. The pants wouldn't have stayed on if he gained twenty pounds. He settled for the shirt, and I put his clothes in the washer.

He came into my bedroom practically shining, he scrubbed his skin so much. When he saw the bed, he looked at me, and he looked at the bed.

“You're going to stay on your side of the bed, bub,” Ralph ordered.

“Yes, sir, I am,” I've got to work tomorrow and I'm tired.

“Is the red-head your boyfriend,” Ralph asked, lying flat on his back with his own pillow, keeping four inches between his body and any part of my body.

“Sort of. We've been going out,” I said.

“Everyone knows that. Don't touch me,” Ralph said, turning his head to look at my face.

“I am not going to touch you, Ralph. You're a thirteen-year-old kid. I'm a grown man,” I stretched the truth.

“That's supposed to make me feel better?” he said, turning his back on me. “Besides, I'm fourteen.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn't know you'd grown up in the last year,” I said.

Ralph laughed. In about five minutes he was snoring, and I figured it was safe to go to sleep. It was a big day with two canned goods deliveries, tomorrow.

At twelve thirty-two, my eyes shot open. I felt like I was being strangled. I was having trouble breathing. Ralph had his arms wrapped around my chest, and he had a death grip on me. I tried to loosen the hold he had on me, but he was locked to me.

I wiggled, until his arms loosened enough for me to breathe, and I wrapped my arms around him and I went to sleep. He'd heard me speaking up on his behalf, and he was in a new place. I figured his need for human contact was stronger than his fear of being raped.

The next day, Ralph skated up to Broadway, when I skated toward work, and he turned, stepped off his board, and he gave me a hug.

“Thanks, Zane. You're a man of your word,” he said.

“Don't call me that,” I said.

“I'm just playing with you, Z. Thanks for the meal. I don't think I've slept that solid in months. You've got a nice bed. See you, stud.”

I watched him skate away. I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

Chapter 19

Preacher's Words

At dinner the next night, Dad told me that he'd talked to an attorney, and under no circumstances was Ralph to stay at our house overnight again. He could come to dinner, and they'd do what they could for him, but no overnight stays, until the attorney came back with information about our exposure to laws concerning such things.

“No one wants those kids. No one has the money or the ability to give teenagers the kind of things that might help them become healthy adults, Dad.”

“Zane, work with me here. He's going to try to clear the way for us to get custody of Ralph. Your mother thought he was adorable.”

What I knew about Ralph didn't include the word adorable, but I didn't question my parents' wisdom on such things. I put the problem in front of them, so they can look it over and decide for themselves.

I had known what they'd decide. I guess you could call it home field advantage. They were always helping someone, back home. I knew, as soon as they saw Ralph, the parental gene would kick in, and they'd figure out some way to help. I had no idea how much help Ralph might accept. I didn't even know if I'd see him again, but he always showed up sooner or later. He'd been making it on his own a long time before I became a California boy.

I didn't see Ralph for the next week, and I hadn't seen him for a long time, before I saw him the week before. I figured that he was doing OK, and he didn't need a free meal, because I told him my parents would feed him any time he came to the house at dinner time.

These were the busy months at work. People were picnicking and buying all kinds of canned goods. At least one day a week, I unloaded trucks and stocked shelves for seven or eight hours straight.

As I knew it would be, Monday was a long hard day, and I didn't think about anything but work. I started before seven, and I was done at three-thirty. I dropped my skateboard, and I headed for the house. I needed a nap.

Skip's Chevy was parked in front of my house, and he was back to leaning his back against it, while he stared at my house.

“Am I glad to see you,” Skip said. “I thought I'd need to go home alone. My parents are spending the week at their place in Ensenada,” Skip said. “We can go to my house, and we can go surfing tomorrow. You haven't seen Zuma. We'll cruise Malibu, maybe we'll see a movie star or two. The place is crawling with famous people.”

“Didn't anyone tell you that I'm a working man?” I asked. “I can't just take the day off.”

“Oh, man, I've been waiting for over a week to get my board in the water, and I wasn't going without you. I drove all the way over here, and you're going to turn me down. Quit your job. Take the day off. You've got to go.”

Skip sounded desperate.

“Cool your jets. I'm off tomorrow. I put up all the canned goods today,” I said.

“Cool,” he said.

“I need a shower. I need to get something to wear. I've been working all day.”

“Sounds serious. I could use a shower,” Skip said.

Just before five, with me sweating, even after taking a shower with Skip, after we went around the world a couple of times, I hastily jotted a note to my parents, before Skip, I, and my surfboard made a quick getaway.

I've gone surfing with my friend Skip. I may be staying over at his house this evening. Don't wait up for me. I won't be late for work in the morning, Dad.

Your son,

Zane

Postscript:

I sent a message to my parents. All was well on the western front. Z, the son who refused to use his great-grandfather's name, was OK. His feet were firmly planted on the ground, and while I'd never be over Free, I'd been able to set him aside long enough to get back into the game.

The last pages of my journal are filled with Free. The best way I'm able, I have written about who Free was to me, and how he changed my life in the few months that we were together. I wanted to close the door on him, as soon as he picked the navy over me, but his decision wasn't about me. It wasn't about our love. The navy was about Free's future, and how could I not help my precious love to go as far as I could help him go.

The hardest thing I've ever done was to watch Free leave me. I am certain that a kid who never had a chance of succeeding has found a way to succeed. He's happy. I'm happy for him. He's the first person on my mind each morning, and he's the last person that crosses my mind each night.

Yes, I still sleep with his pillow in my arms. Like the memory of Free, his smell is weakening its grip on me. The pain which has torn at my insides for months now has weakened too. Work is no longer the only thing I have to secure me to this place. The urge to cut and run, find a new place, has gone.

I really like this place. I have found a place at Hitchcock's market. No, Mr. Hitchcock and I haven't talked about my long silence. He was sure he'd done something wrong. He was sure he was about to loose the best stock clerk he'd ever had.

Brenda took the time to sit down with him and explain Free and me. No, a man of a certain age doesn't understand love between men, but he doesn't need to understand it. He accepted Brenda's explanation of what had taken place.

Like the girls I liked, back home, Brenda and I became friends. She knew that I had no romantic interest in her, but she was a smart, kind, intelligent woman, who would leave her mark on the world, and when she came in at three, on the slow days, before she began work, she'd bring me a soda, pull up a box of her own, and we'd sit and chat, until she heard customers coming in. She always knew when a customer came into the store. Her father would say hello, calling them by name, and they'd stop to chat with her father.

Mr. Hitchcock was relieved that he hadn't done something that made it impossible for me to continue working at Hitchcock's Market. He continues watching me, when I ring up a sale for things I get for my lunch. While sitting on a five gallon can of plaster, eating my purchases, Mr. Hitchcock makes the trip back to where I'd eating, handing me the register receipt showing his owner's discount, and he hands me back most of the money I put into the register.

He's a good man. I told him that this is the best job I've ever had, which is technically true, since I never did anything before but mow lawns and deliver papers, but it's reassuring to him. My father stops to pick me up from work a couple days a week, and I can hear him and Mr. Hitchcock talking about what is going on in the world around them. I get the impression, they don't feel that the changes taking place are for the better, but politicians are going to do what politicians do, and as long as the people go along with it, they are home free.

There is the matter of Skip. I didn't have the time to write about Free, until after he left. I was too tired to write for the first couple of months, and then when I had the time to write, I couldn't write. Gradually, after he was gone, I finally sat down to write about him while memories were fresh.

Skip drove into my life in a 1972 Impala, with a long board strapped to his roof. Sitting there in MacDonald's parking lot, with Skip standing over me, my heart fluttered for the second time in my life. Skip was hot and handsome.

With Gordo sitting next to me and making the introduction, this red-head didn't get away. My first lover introduced me to my third lover. No, my heart never fluttered over Gordo. Yes, I felt something akin to love for him, because he offered me something no one else ever had. Even before I tried to follow him on my skateboard, Gordo seemed too wild, too out of control, to risk falling in love with him. I had no death wish, and I didn't want to see anyone else die, which was a good reason to keep my distance from Gordo..

Skip was easy to love, but as I was holding a live flame burning in my heart, Skip was in a quest to find an old love, Chet, who had gone to Hollywood to become a star, because everyone knew he'd go to Hollywood and become a star. After he apparently failed to achieve stardom, he had returned to where he was from to wait tables in a restaurant. None of that mattered to Skip. He intended to find Chet, make love to him. Chet wouldn't be able to leave him, once he got a gander at the older and more mature Skippy.

Yes, Skip and I did something besides make love. On my next day off, Skip strapped my short board next to his long board, and we went to Huntington Beach, where he'd cut his teeth on a long board. It was a long drive, but the excitement over finally being able to get up on my surfboard overwhelmed me. Now, I needed to practice as often as it was possible.

The Beach Boys had been singing to me about surfing for as far back as my memory went. I could feel the surf, and see myself on a surfboard, all those years ago. Surfing wasn't exactly what I did the day Skip took me to Huntington. The surf was mild, 'Perfect for you to ride your first wave, Z,” Skip told me.

I'm sure the Pacific Ocean was a little light on water, once we left, just before dark that day. I'd drunk all I could and spit out the rest. I did get up on my board. As Preacher told me, my board would never fail me, but it also didn't want to hold me for most of the day.

Skip was a patient teacher. He gave me the same instruction for the nineteenth or twentieth time, when I was finally up on my board for more than five seconds, riding my first wave for maybe twenty seconds. I was so excited, I fell off, when if I'd done what Skip told me to do, I could have ridden longer.

From little acorns, mighty oaks grow. After that humble start, and day of frustration, Skip kept coming back to take me surfing. He lived in Rancho Santa Fe, which was half way to L.A. from where I lived, and he'd take me to another beach along the coast between Rancho Santa Fe and L.A.

Today, I'm a surfer. Sitting on the board Preacher sold me for peanuts, feeling the undulating water under me, is the forerunner for why surfer's wait.

Once you catch a wave, feeling your board being propelled by this force of nature, you find yourself in the wind. Being where you want to be, waiting for the ride to become more than a rushing toward shore, you are in search for a curl.

If you find it, you tuck yourself into it, losing contact with who and where you are. You've been set FREE.

Preacher told me some things that he knew I didn't understand at the time. He told me to remember what he was about to tell me, because the words were truly inspired by God. I did listen, but I didn't write them down. I wasn't a surfer. I didn't know if I ever would be a surfer, but once I became one, I recalled his words, and I wrote them down.

I'd gone back to see about his offer for a lesson at San Onofre. Once I'd surfed San Onofre, I had no interest in going back, and I forgot about Preacher's offer, but while I was there, Preacher took me to one side, and he spoke to me like some ancient guru, explaining the meaning of life to a student.

“Z, surfing is the doorway to infinity. The perfect wave is an illusion, until you're on it. If you remember nothing else I tell you, remember this. It's your ticket to infinity, where time and space don't exist.”

He spoke in a whisper. This was a message for no one but me.

“Z, once you catch your wave, feel your board under you. Feel the wave propel you, this is what you do. At that time, although it won't happen often, you'll see the curl developing as you charge along the front of that force of nature. At first, you aren't sure what you are seeing, but the real deal takes shape all around you, ahead of you. Once you enter, are inside that space, finding just the right spot on your board, allow that curl to almost swallow you, you'll be in the bosom of the curl,” Preacher said with mystic awe. “If you are truly in the curl, you'll feel the spray. The curl will seem to consume you, as you become one with the wave. You'll feel no fear. You'll feel no connection to earthly constraints. Time itself has lost all meaning, as you ride that wave. It becomes almost too overwhelming to comprehend that a mere mortal is tempting the awesome power of fate, and once you do, you'll be free.”

I did what Preacher told me to do. I caught a wave at Zuma. I saw the curl develop in front of me. I surfed into it without fear. It was like Preacher described it to me, except I didn't become Free, I only thought about him at times like that.

I often wondered where free is. I wondered if Free knew Preacher. I can't begin to imagine becoming as happy as I've become, while being a California boy.

The End

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In Skater's Time, A Rick Beck Story. Edited by: ijk

There is a first draft of, In A Skater's Mind, sequel to In Skater's Time.

R