verso:

A stranger to Centerville might not see the connection with the motorcycle boys. They roared their bikes around Stewart's root beer stand of a summer evening. Not all were in high school, some were older, or outside that life. Not all were weight lifters, or state champs, like Tom, but some had been, some aspired to that, and failed, some did not. Not all drank beer or smoked grass at old man Quincy's farmhouse. Some went up to the bedroom with old man Quincy. Some didn't want to, some weren't asked. Tom went up not only for the pleasure of it, but to find out from the old man exactly who else was into it. Who was safe. The old man was cagey.

-He was drunk, they were drunk, or high. Wasn't Tom drunk now, he asks?

- Tom says maybe, I suppose, but did Johnny come up, he hadn't seen him. Quincy doesn't remember.

- Bert came up, he saw Bert come up, yeah, Bert came up a lot, but they were both drunk. Phil went up, and Tony.

Tony, who always had his girlfriend on the back of his bike at Stewart's, but never at old man Quincy's farmhouse. Tom didn't ask about them, Phil was ugly, and Tony had that girl. There were never any girls at Quincy's. But Tom wondered about Johnny, Johnny didn't have a bike, didn't have his license yet, wasn't old enough. Johnny didn't lift either, he wrestled, lightweight. But he wasn't wiry like most lightweights, he was soft looking. He must have been tough, he won a lot, got a lot of points, even though he wasn't all-state. That tow colored hair and farm boy wholesomeness, wrapped in black leather or blue denim drove Tom crazy. Johnny always had a jacket on. One summer night, Johnny had the blue denim jacket on, but no shirt. He always sat with his eyes closed, but not asleep, just buzzed. He always opened his brown eyes when someone won a hand at poker, or told a good joke. The sweat made Johnny's pink chest glisten. Tom sat and watched the poker game, not playing, then looking at Johnny. He wanted to lick that sweat, from navel to neck. Quincy had no air conditioner, only cold beers. Tom rolled his beer can across his forehead, but it was almost empty and not cold enough anymore. He went into the kitchen, and brought out two cold ones. He sat on the couch now, next to Johnny. Johnny opened his eyes and looked at Tom.

- Here's a cold one, you look hot. Johnny took it.

- Yeah, he says.

- You wanna get some air, out by the barn? But Johnny just looked at Tom. I just got one joint, Tom says, I don't wanna share it with everyone.

- That's cool, Johnny stood up, they walked out to the front porch. Tom paused and looked back through the screen door. Tony looked away from his cards and watched them for a moment, then turned back to Phil and the other two, throwing down a card. Tom and Johnny stepped off the porch, walking past the six Harleys lined up like horses at a rail outside a saloon in some western movie. Old man Quincy kept his old Harley in the barn. Johnny and Tom sauntered over to the barn like they were John Wayne and Montgomery Clift. Tom's madras shirt, only half buttoned, had the sleeves torn off. Tom showed off his biceps that way. He reached into the shirt's pocket, withdrawing the joint he had rolled that afternoon, after school. He lit it and took a long drag, passed it to Johnny. Johnny sucked slow and long, and Tom looked back at the farmhouse. Bert was upstairs with old man Quincy, but there were no lights on up there. Johnny touched Tom's hand, passing back the joint. Tom pulled the smoke into his lungs, passing to Johnny, who did the same. It went back and forth until it was gone.

- You can keep the roach, Tom says.

- Yeah? cool, Johnny put it in his wallet. He had been leaning against the barn, but he stood off it now.

Tom says, no don't go back yet.

- What's up?

- I'm horny as hell, Tom says.

- Whatta ya want me to do about it?

- Pull me off, Tom asks, please?

- No way, I ain't no fag.

- I know, I know, Tom says, I'll pull you off too.

- No way, that's faggit shit.

- Aw, man, I'm horny as a motherfucker, c'mon. Pause, silence. More silence, but Johnny doesn't leave. I'll tell you what, I'll suck yours if you just pull me off. Tom puts his hand on the barn wall, and Johnny leans back again.

- You don't never tell nobody, Johnny warns.

- No man, I'm cool, you know that.

- Okay, but in back, behind the barn. They go behind the barn, which is half covered in some ivy or vine.

- I'll do you first, Tom says, slipping his fingers under Johnny's copper buttoned Levi's. The button goes, then the zipper, Tom pushes both the jeans and the BVD's at once sliding them to Johnny's ankles. Johnny is already hard, the August stars and moon light Johnny up all silvery. Tom takes it all in his mouth, but lets it go again, sliding his hands up Johnny's sides up over his nipples under his armpits and over his shoulders, pushing the denim jacket off. The jacket slides halfway down his arms and he leans back against the weathered barn boards, trapping his jacket, and his arms in the sleeves, like Elisha Cook, jr. in The Maltese Falcon. Tom licks a nipple and down the chest around and in the navel and past the wispy hairs like Tom had when he was only thirteen, and sucks Johnny's dick and soon Johnny comes. Tom swallows. Johnny pulls his jacket up over his shoulders, and bends over to pull his jeans up.

- No, Tom says, wait 'til I'm done. Johnny gingerly holds Tom's dick, which Tom had already pulled out of his jeans, and stands off leaning to pull on it. Tom wraps his muscular arm around Johnny, under the jacket and rubs his hand over Johnny's white round soft ass, pressing the two of them close as Johnny pulls and squeezes until Tom comes all over Johnny's hand.

- Shit, what a fucking mess, Johnny looks at his wet hand.

- Here, Tom says, ripping some leaves off the vine near Johnny's face as he leans against the wood again. Tom wipes Johnny's hand but Johnny has a look of disgust as he opens and closes his fingers.

- It's sticky, he says. Tom grabs Johnny's wrist and starts to lick his palm. Johnny giggles, it tickles, he says, still giggling as he wipes Tom's saliva on his jacket and pulls his jeans up. Johnny's giggles are turning into laughter as Tom zips up, and Johnny slides down the barn wall to sit in the dirt laughing, it tickled! Tom is laughing and sits on the cool bare earth and points at Johnny, laughing, and Johnny points at him and laughs louder. The laughs subside into giggles again, that was good shit Johnny says and breaks into laughter again and Tom laughs loud and points at Johnny again. Tears of laughter are running down their cheeks, when Phil, standing over them, asks

- what's so funny?

- Oh shit, man, it's Phil, Johnny laughs.

- Got any more? Phil asks.

- We smoked it all up, man,Tom giggles. Phil takes a swig from the beer can in his left hand, and belches like a walrus. Tom and Johnny point at him and laugh again, rolling onto their sides.

- You guys are fucked up, man, Phil says as he turns to walk back to the farmhouse, stumbling over a tree root. Johnny and Tom point at him, and then at each other, laughing wildly. They hear the screen door shut, and Phil saying they are fucked up, man. They will lie there giggling for a while that night.

refrain: Johnny is sixteen, Tom is eighteen. It is nineteen seventy-one.

*
verso:

Walter turned to look back at the rest of the line he stood in, to see just how long it had gotten. About ten more people behind him, three in front of him. Walter had left work a bit early, thanks to the holiday weekend upcoming, but he just missed the four-forty bus. Other bus lines at the Port Authority were considerably longer than his, so Walter knew he would have a wait. There won't even be a four-fifty, he thought. He perused the milling crowds and long lines of people. An occasional bus would pull in to unload before reloading and departing again, and several groups of teenagers were filing off amid shouts and horse-play. Some group was at the Garden tonight, was it the Stones or the Who? Walter couldn't remember. Just then he saw a hunk, early twenties, stepping off the escalator. He's headed this way. Walter stares as the hunk walks by, but the hunk doesn't seem to notice. Walter turns after he passes, to see where the hunk went. He's on this line, about twelve people back. The bus pulls in, the driver gets out, after a bunch of people debark. The driver fiddles with papers and tickets, punching holes. From the trip in, Walter supposes. They start to load, good, it's air-conditioned, Walter takes a seat in the middle, midway between the axles. Smoother ride here. The hunk won't sit here, probably in the back, there's too many empty seats still. The hunk gets on, sees Walter looking at him and Walter doesn't look away either, and he sits right next to Walter.

- You prefer the window or the aisle?

Walter says I'll stay here by the window, thanks.

- Where you gettin' off?

Walter says Centerville, and the hunk says

- me, too, I'm Tom, holding out his hand.

- I'm Walter, Walter answers, shaking hands, nice hands, warm, dry, firm, but gentle. The bus fills up, and soon they are under way, passing through the Lincoln Tunnel. Tom has a denim jacket on, no shirt, no sleeves. Walter wishes he had no sleeves, so he could feel those big biceps and deltoids when the swaying of the bus pressed them together. He leans forward, to remove his jacket, leans back to fold it neatly, lining out.

Tom says let me put that on the rack up top, hops up. Walter hands Tom the jacket. Tom sits again, and gently their shoulders press, Walter's long sleeve white shirt between the two skins. Is it just the bus jiggling, or is Tom pressing his thigh to Walter's? Walter slides his hand off his own leg, to rest the heel of it, and his pinky finger, against Tom's leg. He wiggles his pinky. Tom reaches over and gently places his hand on Walter's, them both still looking forward.

Almost imperceptibly, their hands part, as Walter says why don't you stop by for a beer, before you go home.

- Sure, says Tom.

Walter's mother is eighty-five, she had him when she was fifty. I thought you'd be late from the holiday traffic, she says, I already ate, there's hamburgers and corn.

- This is my friend Tom, from town, he was in the city today. Actually, Walter doesn't know where Tom is from. There are two hamburgers, want one? Walter asks Tom, and the refrigerator is full of Buds.

- Sure, says Tom. Walter cooks up the burgers, Tom makes himself to home, pops the first two Buds for them both. Ever been to a gay bar?

Walter answers no.

Tom says me neither, all them queens.

Sex was understood.

- Where's your room, upstairs?

- I got an office across from the living room, Walter answers.

- Does your mother know?

- No, she watches TV, says Walter, I'll tell her we're gonna talk, and lock the door. There's a hide-a-bed in there. Tom's naked body is beautiful to Walter. Tom wants to be fucked, and it feels good to him, relaxing, once Walter is in, and then he's humping Tom's round cheeks, individual, soft and white and Tom comes, although Walter's dick isn't as big as he would like, not like Johnny, who moved to California with his family, and never wrote or called. And Johnny would never let Tom fuck his little cute ass, said he was straight, just liked foolin' around. Tom fucked Walter, too, not that night, but another time. Tom would visit once or twice a month, for six months or so.

- Did you know there's a German restaurant on Countyline Road owned by two gays?

- No, Walter replies.

- Yeah, but it's real expensive, all faggit places are, Tom says, even if they know you're gay, too. Gays don't stick together, like blacks do, Tom says, gays don't take care of other gays. Tom told Walter where he lived, a house he rented down by the lake, a little vacation cabin, really, in Barnsberg. His mother and father still lived in Centerville, with his little brother Jack, eight years old. Tom couldn't stand how his father belittled and beat Jack. He's a wimpy little guy, Tom said, I think he's gonna be gay, too. My father always calls him a fag, if he only knew I was... I'd like to kill him and bring Jack to live with me. That's why I moved out in the first place, I couldn't take it.

- What about your mother? she should stop him, Walter says.

- Fuck her, she's always drunk, Tom says. They downed some Buds and fucked.

The last time Tom came over, Walter says, Don't they have mufflers for Harleys? Tom laughs. He tells Walter about the Gay bar over in Bellwood.

- There weren't no queens there, really, just guys, like us, he says. They kissed and licked and fucked like crazy that night, but Tom didn't come back. Walter had worried what the neighbors would think, the roaring motorcycle, the late night visits, but he missed Tom when he didn't come back. He felt guilty, like it was his fault, but he didn't call Tom either, even though his number was in the book. Walter's mother died that year.

refrain: Walter was thirty-five, Tom was twenty-five. It was nineteen seventy-eight.

*
verso:

Driving his car through Centerville, on the way to the doctor in Bellwood, Tom passed his old friend Walter's house, where he saw a teenaged boy mowing the lawn. He decided to stop and see Walter on his way back, wouldn't he be surprised?

On the way back, Tom didn't feel as enthusiastic about stopping at Walter's, but he needed someone to talk to, and there was no one else left, except Jack. He couldn't face Jack now, he loved him too much, and he knew Jack loved him, too. It was an early spring day, extra warm for April, but still a little cool as the sun started to set in an orange sky with purple clouds. He pulled his car into Walter's driveway, where Walter bent over the car jack, changing tires.

- Who the fuck is this, Walter thought, not recognizing the car. A slender man got out that looked familiar. No, it couldn't be. Tom? Is that you Tom?

- Yeah, it's me, Tom says, long time no see, huh?

- I thought you moved to Florida, you're not in the phone book no more. Somebody said you moved to Florida.

- Nah, Tom says, I moved, but only down the street, I'm still in Barnsberg.

- Oh, Walter says.

- Yeah, I had to change the number 'cause too many kids were callin' me up all the time.

- Yeah, says Walter, what for?

- Well some wanted to make dates for sex, and some just wanted to call me names. It was all gettin' to be too much. I only gave the new unlisted number to my best friends, kids I knew were gay, you know, and Jack, my brother Jack.

- Not your folks, Walter asked?

- Nah, booze killed my mother, and I ain't got nothin' to say to my old man.

- Sorry, Walter says, but Tom puts on a happy face.

- Hey! hows your Mom?

- Oh, she died, Walter says.

- I'm sorry, too, Tom says, not cheerful anymore.

- Nah, it's okay, she was old, and it was a long time ago, seven years now, Walter says, toeing the gravel in the driveway.

- Hey, what happened, got a flat, need some help?

- Nah, Walter answers, I just finished changing the snow tires, I'm running late this year.

- Sheesh, Tom laughs, hey who was that kid I saw mowing your lawn this afternoon, you holding out on me?

- Nah, that's my stepson, Pete, says Walter, I got married right after my mother died.

- No kidding, I didn't know you swung that way.

- Yeah, well, we don't swing too much, says Walter, but we both like our little family.

- Got any kids of your own?

Walter answers, yeah, I got a little boy, six years old, and I think of Petey as mine, too. The little one is named Tommy.

- Hey, great name, Tom says.

- I named him after you, Walter says.

Tom doesn't know what to say, feeling a bit choked, and tears come into his eyes. Thanks, man, he finally gets out, and they are both toeing the gravel.

- Hey, how's Jack, is he okay? You used to think he might be gay, Walter says.

- Yeah, he's so cool, he came out in junior high, he's a real little queen.

- Didn't he have a hard time?

- Yeah, a little, some kids gave him some shit, but he's tougher than I thought.

- What about your dad, does he still beat Jack?

- No way, man, I told him I'd kill him if he ever touched Jack again, but he's so old now, and drunk most the time. You know he's retired now, and Jack deposits his pension check when it comes, and writes checks and pays all the bills, he's so cool, I really love that kid. I don't know how I'm gonna tell him.

- Tell him what, Walter asks.

- That I have AIDS, Tom says.

- No, you're shitting me, Walter says. They just look at each other, toeing the gravel for a few long seconds, not knowing if one wants to be hugged and held, for fear of giving it, or of getting it, though both knew better, but wasn't sure the other did, 'til they both, or neither could hold their feelings and grabbed each other right there in the driveway and hugged and squeezed each other without regard to what neighbors or passers-by might think, faces in each others shoulders. Then Tom told about the weekend lover from the city he had met in a Bellwood bar, and how they only lived together and loved each other on weekends, because André had to prowl the city bars every night, and Tom liked his job so he didn't want to fuck up by coming in late or ass dragging, and besides the neighborhood teenagers had all come over to be sucked off at one time or another and now he, Tom, felt bad about maybe giving it to them, most of them straight, and maybe they would get married, give it to girls, or their kids, or each other if they fooled around, and the whole neighborhood's boys might be dying, and André never told him he had it, and then André died last winter. He hated André so much for not telling him, but he loved André, too, he was so sexy, they had so much fun on weekends, and André was hung, such a good fucker.

Tom says you know how much I liked to get fucked. Some of the local boys fucked me, too, and I fucked them, sometimes, but mostly they liked to get sucked off. Oh, god what am I gonna tell Jack?

- I'll help ya, says Walter.

- Nah, I gotta tell him myself.

- Okay, but let me see what my wife, Jan says, I think she'll be cool, so we can visit you and do shit together, 'cause I don't want you to be alone.

So Tom told Jack and they cried that night, but they didn't tell their old dad, and Walter told Jan and they started to visit Tom. As it turned out, Petey knew Jack from school, being only a year apart, and Jack being sort of famous, or infamous.

refrain: Tom was thirty-two, Walter and Jan were both forty-two, little Tommy was seven, Petey was fourteen, Jack was fifteen, and Jack and Tom's old drunk dad was sixty-three. It was nineteen eighty-five.

*
verso:

Walter went on a Saturday, with Jan, little Tommy and Petey, to Tom's little house, and Jack was there. They all shook hands with Tom, and then Jack.

- This is our son Petey, Walter says, you must be Jack. Petey didn't want another kid to call him Petey, but it was too late.

- Hi, Jack says, and sits back down. The rest of that first Saturday visit was small talk, and Petey didn't say much, and neither did Jack. Little Tommy spilled a Coke, and Tom and Walter laughed as they wiped up the mess. Jan laughed, too, once she saw it was okay to laugh.

Monday at school, outside by the corral, where kids with parental permission could smoke cigarettes, Petey saw Jack sitting on the split rail fence. He felt bad for Jack, since most of the kids hated him and didn't even know his brother was dying. Petey brought his brown bag out there,and sat on the bench in front of Jack. No other kids were close enough to hear, so Petey figured he could talk.

- Sorry about your brother's problem, he says.

- Problem? yeah, it's a problem, Jack says, and then he adds, Thanks.

Petey takes his sandwich out of the bag, and starts to eat lunch. You want half? he asks.

- Nah, Jack says, staring at the ground, and then he looks at Petey and says, Your father isn't bad looking, but you don't look like him.

- Oh thanks, says Petey with a sarcastic tone.

- No, I didn't mean it that way, you don't look bad either, in fact you're kind of cute, but, I mean, you just don't look like him. Petey turned a little pink in the face. No guy ever called him cute before.

- He's my stepfather, Petey says, he married my mother.

- Where's your real dad then?

- I don't know, he split when I was little.

- Mmm, says Jack. He rubs his foot against the brown grass. Springtime hasn't quite reached the school grounds. While Jack is staring at the ground, Petey looks at his face. Jack is slender, but a good build, and has a nice face, too. Surely he could have girlfriends, if he wanted them.

- How come you don't like girls? Petey asks.

- I do like girls, most of my friends are girls.

- But, I mean, why do you act like a girl?

- I don't act like a girl, I act like a queen, because I am a queen. The Queen of Centerville High! Petey smiled at Jack, he didn't know why, so he shook his head, and Jack smiled back at him. Jack says, hey, I didn't mean to embarrass you before, when I said you were cute, but, you know, you are.

- Not in your wildest dreams, says Petey, still smiling.

- Oh yes, you are, since Saturday, says Jack, and believe me, they are wild! Petey's jaw dropped in shock, but he couldn't keep from laughing.

- Shut up, he says, giggling like a girl himself, someone will hear you!

- Sorry, Jack says, and he smiled, too, because he knew, in that moment, he had made a friend. The school bell rang, lunch was over.

Walter talked to Petey about sex and AIDS, and gave him a box of condoms, for whenever he felt ready for them, they would be there, and he wouldn't have to ask. Petey said he wasn't ready and that he was straight, but thanks. Walter reminded him that condoms are for straight sex, too. That summer Walter and Jan and Petey and Tommy picked up Jack and brought him to Tom's house often, and they went on picnics and outings until Tom couldn't do it anymore, because the cancer got worse, and he stayed in bed that fall. All that summer and fall, Tom got more love than his whole life. One Saturday in September, when only Jack was in the bedroom with Tom, Tom motioned with his finger for Jack to come close.

- Is Petey gay? he asks.

- No.

- Too bad, Tom grins and winks.

- Tell me about it.

- I will tell you something about it.

- What? Jack asks.

- He loves you.

- Get out!

- No, really, it's not only about sex, you know, he cares about you. Remember that. When I die.

- Tom! shouts Jack, don't say that. They're gonna find a cure. In time for you!

- Yeah, okay, says Tom, but you remember what I said. Then Walter and Jan and Gerry, one of the guys from the Hyacinth Foundation that was helping Tom, ran in, because of Jack's shout.

- What happened? Walter asks.

- Oh I just told Jack something that shocked him, Tom says.

- Well, that's a switch, Walter says, winking at Jack, and everyone had a laugh.

On a windy October Friday, Petey left with Jack after school. Jack went to the bank to deposit the old man's pension check, and made the mortgage payment. They went to Jack's house and the old man was asleep on the couch. They made preperations for Jack and the old man's dinner. Petey helped by peeling and chopping onions, and put them in a plastic bag. The onions would always make Jack's eyes tear, and he didn't like that.

Jack had everything ready for dinner, just throw it in the frying pan and eat. He flopped on a kitchen chair.

- Gimme a Coke, he asked Petey. Petey got two, and sat on a chair at the table, too.

- Well, you sure got a lot of stuff done today, Petey says, sliding a Coke to Jack.

- Yeah, I'm the Queen of the Whirlwind Kitchen.

- And the bank, and the school.

- Hey, thanks for helping. He made a slurping sound drinking. Do you like Coke better, or Pepsi? he asked.

- I don't know, I never thought about it, Petey says.

- I like Coke. It has more snap! Jack says, and snaps his fingers loudly, and his arm makes a grand circle gracefully, and his hand returns to rest on the red and white can. Petey smiles back at him.

- You're the Queen of the Whole County! Petey offers.

- Nah, that's Tom, Jack says, looking seriously down into his Coke can, and I don't want his crown. Then Jack cheers up and says, you know, I came out first, in fact, I sorta made my brother come out to my father.

- How'd you do that?

- It's all because I wore my gay shirt to school, Jack says.

- A gay shirt?

- C'mon, I'll show you, and Jack jumps up from the table, and they sneak past the sleeping old man in the living room, going up to Jack's bedroom. There's only two rooms upstairs, and two beds in Jack's room, one made, and one messy. Petey figures that Tom must have slept here in the other bed, before he moved out. Jack opens his dresser and pulls out a black tee shirt with a pink triangle on it and the white letters that say SILENCE = DEATH. I wore this to school, and Mr. Crater sent me to the principal's office.

- Rotten-stock! Petey disgustedly says, refering to the principal, Mr. Rodenstock.

- Yeah, and Rotten-stock says I have to go home and change it, and I said if I did, I would come back wearing my mother's dress!

- What happened?

- I got suspended for two weeks.

- Rotten-stock, what a jerk!

- So anyway, at home my father's smacking me around, and calling me faggit and shit, and Tom walks in! Some senior he knew told him I was suspended and he comes over to check me out right when my father's smacking me around. So he throws my father onto the couch and says if my father ever hits me again, he'd kill him. So my father tries to make up excuses, calling me faggit again and stuff, so Tom says he's gay too. I couldn't believe it. Two of us in the same family! And I thought I was the only one outside of New York City!

- I bet there's more at school. Some kids thought I'm one, Petey confesses.

- Just 'cause you hang out with me?

- Nah, they thought I was before I even knew you.

- Aaa, just bonk some loose chick, that'll show 'em, Jack suggests.

- There isn't any girl in school that'd bonk me.

- Well I would, Jack grins.

- Don't start that again, Petey laughs, hey, I gotta go home.

- Soon as I get romantic, you gotta go.

- Jack, take a look out the window. It'll be dark soon. I really gotta go.

- Tomorrow's Saturday, you coming to Tom's?

- Yeah. They went out the front door onto the porch. Petey jumped down the steps.

- Hey, we can push little Tommy in the swings. He loves that. Jack tried to keep the talk going

- He only loves it 'cause he gets to play with the big boys.

- I love that, too, Big Boy! Jack yelled from the porch.

- You're nuts, Petey waved back as he walked away, bye!

- Bye! see ya tomorrow!

In November and December Tom was in and out of the hospital until he said he didn't want to go there anymore and the doctors said okay, he could stay home now, and two days before Christmas, Tom died. The kids were off from school, Walter had taken time off from work, for the holidays he told his boss. That guy Gerry was there that last day, and everyone was standing around Tom's bed like some Charles Dickens book. Only no one was crying yet. Jack held onto Tom's hand, but Tom was half asleep. Then he rouses up and looks at Jack.

- Hang in bro', he says, and then a minute or so later he says, you're gonna be cool...

Tom was quiet then, and then he started to snore, real loud, but not long. When it stopped, everyone knew, and the tears began, because the Tom they knew, even after the months of wasting away, no longer was recognizable. He had flown away, leaving the strange remains of the body he had worked so hard to make beautiful, a body that, nevertheless became, at that moment, the symbol and shrine of all their loves. Petey leans to Jack and kisses his cheek.

- The Queen is dead, long live the Queen, Petey whispers in Jack's ear. Jack turns to look at Petey, and their faces are so close, their tears splash and mix on each other's faces. It's okay because Jack knows what Petey means. Walter can't take it, so he goes to leave, but first he stops Gerry from covering Tom's face with the sheet.

- Wait, he says, and walks out of the little bedroom. Jan follows him. Gerry leaves then, too, patting Petey on the shoulder softly as he goes. So Petey waits a minute, and then leaves Jack alone in there. To say goodbye. To get it together. To do whatever he had to do. To go on.

coda: Tom was thirty-two, Walter and Jan were both forty-two, little Tommy was seven, Petey was fourteen, Jack was fifteen, and Jack and Tom's old drunk dad was sixty-three. It was nineteen eighty-five.