Dream Boy (2 page)

When
Nathan walks away from the courtyard at the sound of the lunch bell, he carries
a cloud of Roy. He is distracted during his afternoon classes. Because of his
scores on standardized tests, he is taking math and English with kids in the
junior class during the afternoons. That day he has a hard time paying
attention; he is thinking of Roy with the cigarette drawling from his lip. The
math teacher asks if Nathan is sick at his stomach, he has such a pained
expression on his face. The older kids, who are resentful of Nathan's presence,
find the question funny.

At the
end of the day, Nathan hurries to the bus, nevertheless too late, even after
rushing, to claim the seat behind Roy. He is only temporarily disappointed.
During the course of the ride, he works himself gradually forward, empty seat
by empty seat, confident of eventual success since he will be riding to the
last stop. Roy, efficient, steers from one dirt driveway to the other, and the
orange bus discharges its passengers in clusters of neat frocks and clean blue
jeans. Only two riders remain by the time Roy steers right at Hargett's
Crossroads: a mumbling brunette girl named Linette, wearing blue butterfly
barrettes, and an older black girl with bad skin, who sits directly behind Roy and talks to him every so often. Pretty soon the mumbling Linette steps out of the bus
beside her mailbox, and within moments so does the girl with pocked skin. He
and Roy ride alone on the bus to Poke's Road and all the way home.

Now
that the moment has come, Nathan sits, stupefied. He gauges the few remaining
empty seats between him and Roy. Roy glances at him in the general surveillance
mirror. Finally he says, “Why don't you come up here?”

The
question echoes. Nathan moves behind the driver's seat. A slight flush of color
rises from Roy's collar. Nathan leans against the metal bar behind Roy's seat and hangs there, chin to seat back. The orange bus lumbers down the dirt road.

The
feeling is restful. They can be quiet together. Nathan is glad, and wishes
Poke's Road were longer.

Roy parks
the bus beside the barn and sits for a moment. His face has taken on a strange
meaning for Nathan, registering expressions Nathan would never have expected
from someone older. Roy listens acutely, as if for some signal. It is as if he
needs something but he cannot speak about it. Nathan lingers too, taking a long
time to stack his books, straightening them carefully and arranging them
largest to smallest. Roy says, reaching for his own books, "I have so much
stuff to do on top of my homework, I'm about to go crazy?

“You
have to work?”

“I
got chores for my dad. There's always something to do around here.” Roy grimaces, gathering his tattered notebooks and light jacket. “And I got to write
a paper in English, and I don't want to.”

“I'm
good at that kind of stuff.” “Are you?” “I like English.”

“Then
I'll come over later and you can help me. It's about railroads. The paper
is.”

Nathan
can hardly believe the offer. Why does Roy want to spend time with him? Roy lets him descend first, but they linger on the short walk to the house. Roy says maybe he can help Nathan with other stuff, like math, since he's pretty good at
math. Since Nathan is ahead of kids his own age, maybe he could use somebody
older to help him. He mentions this casually, like a stray thought. They will
study together later, after supper, the fact is established. Something about
the agreement makes Nathan happy and afraid at the same time.

An
image of his father gives the fear. The image comes to Nathan from dangerous
places, from territories of memory that Nathan rarely visits. The memory is his
father standing in a doorway, in the house in Rose Hill, and it reminds him of Roy because of the look in his father's eyes.

Later,
standing at his bedroom window, Nathan watches Roy moving from barn to shed,
shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled above his elbows, flesh bright as if the glow
from a bonfire is radiating outward through his torso and limbs. He is cleaning
the barn, stacking rusted gas cans and boxes in the back of the pickup truck,
forking soiled hay into damp piles. He moves effortlessly from task to task as
if he is never tired. The sight of him is like a current of cool water through
the middle of Nathan.

It is a
new feeling, not like friendship. Not like anything. Nathan has had friends
before, especially before the family began to move so often. This feeling is
stranger, forcing Nathan to remember things he does not want to remember.

After a
while Nathan retreats from the window, lying across the bed scribbling idly at
homework. He wants supper to be over. The arithmetic figures waver
meaninglessly on the pages of his text. When he tries to concentrate, the word
problems make periodic sense. He reads one long paragraph, considers it,
realizes he has remembered nothing he has read, then finally stands, pacing to
the window and drawing the curtain carefully back.

Roy stands
below. He is waiting near the hedge as if he has called Nathan. He carries a
wooden crate full of Mason jars with dusty, cobweb covered lids. Nathan parts
the curtains slowly. Roy waves hello without fear or surprise. Nathan fights
the impulse to turn away, to pretend he has come to the window for some other
reason than to look at Roy. Roy's gentle smile disturbs Nathan deeply. It is as
if he knows what Nathan is thinking and feeling. He sets the crate on the back
porch and turns. He heads back to the bam for more jars. Nathan goes on
watching as long as there is light.

Mom
calls Nathan to supper, and he descends from upstairs as if into some shadowy
pool. He sits underwater and eats the food his mother has prepared. Tonight,
Dad misses supper, working late. Tonight, Nathan can taste what is in front of
him.

After
supper, Roy crosses the yard to Nathan's house for help with his homework.
Nathan sits at the desk in his bedroom with light from a warm study lamp pouring
over his grammar textbook. He has completed work on his sentence diagrams.
Footsteps sound in the hall, and when Nathan turns, Roy is leaning against the
door jamb, gripping school books as if he would like to crush them in his big
boned hands. He says, "I told you I was coming.''

“I
know. I was waiting.”

The
statement pleases Roy.  You sure it's okay?“ ”I finished my homework
while you were doing your chores."

He has
bathed and wears a white cotton shirt, buttoned to the collar. The cloud of his
aftershave is vigorous. “Miss Burkette says you're supposed to be good at
English, even if you are younger than me.” He takes careful steps into the
room, laying his books on the bed and rubbing his knuckles. “I hate to
write stuff.”

“I
like it okay”

“I
have to write about trains.” Roy's brows knit to a sharp black line. He
spreads open his notebook on the bed, and Nathan sits beside him on the sloping
mattress. Miss Burkette has assigned his class to write a seven paragraph essay
on a preselected topic, “Railroads in the United States.” Roy has brought the volume “QR” of the 'World Book Encyclopedia with him, and he
shows Nathan the sentences he has copied down from the article on
“Railroad.”

Nathan
studies the writing and asks questions about the facts for the essay. Under
these circumstances it becomes simple to talk, and the conversation feels as
easy as their quiet. They discuss the essay seriously, agreeing that Roy must narrow what he wants to say about railroads, weighing one topic against another. Roy selects steam engines as a starting point and soon he is writing words on paper under
Nathan's supervision. Roy seems vaguely surprised that the essay is actually
getting written, and they work step by step through all the necessary
decisions.

Mom
brings iced tea for both of them, flushing when Roy thanks her, as if the
acknowledgment is too much. She moves as if she would like to be invisible,
same as she always moves, and yet she is clearly curious about Roy. When she retreats downstairs, they take the iced tea as a signal to rest. The evening
is almost balmy. Nathan opens the window and takes long breaths. Roy stands, stretching. He sips tea and watches the half finished page on the bed,
thoughtful and quiet. “I guess I ought to be embarrassed, getting a kid like
you to help me with my homework.”

Nathan
answers, fervently, “I take English with the juniors. That's just one year
behind you. I'm not a kid.”

Roy
appears confused by what he has said. He blushes a little and reconsiders.
“I didn't mean it bad. I mean you're younger than me, that's all.”
His gentle expression kindles. He approaches closer, and his nearness brings a
physical reaction to Nathan, a sudden heaviness, as if his body is sliding
toward Roy's. Roy goes on talking with calm ease. “I appreciate the
help.” “I like to do it.”

“You're
pretty smart, aren't you? That's what everybody says. I mean, I'm not dumb or
anything. But you're different.”

He
offers no response. But Roy goes on smiling. “We could be buddies, Nathan.
You think so?”

His
throat is dry and he is suddenly terrified. “Yes. I'd like that.”

“You'll
like living out here. In the summertime it's real peaceful. Nobody comes
around.”

“Is
it okay to walk in the woods?”

Roy laughs
as if the answer is self-evident. “Yeah. I go out there all the time.
There's some great places, Indian mounds and camping places and a haunted house
and stuff. I'll show you.”

“I
bet you have a lot of work to do in the summer. Because it's a farm.”

“Yeah,
but it's all right. It's all outdoor stuff and I like that. You ever live on a
farm before?”

“No.
We lived in towns before, mostly. But my dad wanted to live in the country this
time.”

“Why
did you move here? Nobody moves to Potter's Lake.”

Nathan
can feel himself reddening. “My dad got a job. At the Allis Chalmers place
in Gibsonville.”

He is
momentarily afraid that maybe Roy has heard some gossip. A breeze stirs Roy's fine black hair. The lamplight traces one arched brow and outlines a lip, a curve of
jaw, a shadowed cheek. He would be handsome if it were not for his nose. Maybe
he is handsome anyway. He sees Nathan watching and likes being watched; he
squares his shoulders and clenches his jaw. “You like this school stuff,
don't you?”

“I
guess so. Most of the time.”

“I
don't see how anybody could like school.”

“Beats
staying at home all the time,” Nathan says, and Roy laughs quietly. He
leans toward Nathan. Nathan's breath hovers between them both.

“So
you stay at home too much, huh? We can fix that.”

They
sit quietly in the aftermath of this implied promise. The sense of closeness
between them survives the return to work. Roy finishes the paper and stays to
copy it over. His handwriting is neat and square, an extension of his blunt
hands. After he folds the paper neatly for safekeeping and places it inside his
English book, he stays to talk about kids at school, about Randy who put jello
mix in Miss Burkette's thermos of ice water, and Burke who beat up a Marine
five years older than him at Atlantic Beach last summer. He talks about what it
was like in Potter's Lake before integration and avows that the black kids are
okay if you get to know them. He talks about baseball. He says he doesn't want
to go to college but his folks want him to. He talks more than he has talked in
a long time, he says as much himself, with an air of slight surprise.

At last
Nathan's mother calls upstairs to remind them it's about bedtime, and Roy stands. He tucks in his shirt and combs his hair at Nathan's dresser. His bundle of
books lies on the bed, and when he turns for it he passes close to Nathan,
lingering long enough that Nathan notes the difference. He takes the books, and
Nathan walks him to the head of the stairs. Roy descends into the murky lower
floor and passes out the kitchen doorway.

Nathan
waits at the bedroom window, quietly tucked into a fold of curtain. The rich
yellow bar of Roy's bedroom light spills across the hedge, and Roy's shadow
passes one way and then another, a long teasing interval, until finally Roy
returns to his own window. He glows in the warm square of glass. At last he
waves to Nathan and disappears.

Nathan
remains at the window a little longer, breathless and numb, the memory of the
evening wrapping him like a warm mantle.

But the
new ease has vanished by morning and Nathan wakes full of fear that Roy will dislike him today. Roy will discover that yesterday was an accident and should
never have happened. Nathan dresses with deliberateness and eats his breakfast
slowly. The night was cloudy but morning is clearing, he notes the changing sky
through the kitchen windows. He heads for the bus when he hears the engine
running. The grass, heavy with morning dew, whispers to his feet as he crosses
the yard. Roy waits in the driver's seat. He smiles when he sees Nathan,
something shy in his expression. Nathan takes the seat behind him, and he hands
back his books and asks Nathan to look after them. The books are warm and
precious, placed in Nathan's trust Roy grinds the bus into gear and commences
the long drive to high school.

At
lunch Roy finds Nathan again, setting his tray next to Nathan's, and announces
that the essay, “Steam Engines in the U.S.A.,” went over pretty big
with his teacher. There is a message of gratitude behind the words, and Nathan
savors it. Later Randy and Burke join them, and they tell jokes and dig elbows
into each other's ribs. Nathan remains comfortable even in the presence of
these other boys, and eats his lunch as he listens.

Randy
strikes Nathan as curious at Nathan's sudden presence in their group. But he
seems willing to accept. Burke hardly seems aware of anything, except
occasionally Roy.