Jim Grimsley - Dream Boy

Nathan should recognize the body, the roundness and brownness of nipples nested among dense hair. But Nathan is dazed and the shadow face will not resolve, the body steps forward and pulls a narrow bottle from its back pocket. Eyes that have been struck by lightning, they glitter. "You want some whiskey, Nathan?"

"No."

"You sure? It might calm you down."

"I'm all right."

The voice jangles. Nathan should know it. "We went through that first bottle too fast. I'm keeping this one to myself. You know what I mean?"

He swallows. The long relaxed motion of his throat catches moonlight, shimmers. He keeps his eyes on Nathan as he drinks.

Setting the bottle on the floor nearby, he grabs Nathan by the shirt and wipes his mouth on it. Nathan tries to pull away, and a fist hits him again. The impact of the hand is as sudden as before, and Nathan feels thunder and staggers.

"Don’t pull away from me." There is something plaintive in his voice, almost soft. But then there are his eyes, blazing like a predator cat. "Don't." "Okay. I won't."

Silence again. A glazed look in Burke's eyes. It is Burke, that is the name. But for a moment it is like a shadow taking Burke's shape. Burke has not decided what to do, not entirely. He shrugs his shoulders, and Nathan realizes how much bigger than Roy he actually is. His body has a frightening hardness. He focuses on Nathan again. "Roy left you in the house."

Silence.

"I came back." His fingers dig into Nathan's shoulders. "You don't like me, do you?" "I like you fine." "Do you?" ‘

"Yes."

Burke wets his lips. "I saw you."

Nathan's heart picks up its beat. "You did?"

"Oh yeah. You were on the floor. You know when?"

"When?"

"When Roy had your dick in his mouth. When he was on his knees in front of you and he was sucking your dick. Do you suck his dick too?"

Nathan feels a throbbing in his head, and a heaviness in all his limbs. He speaks past the weight on his chest. "It wasn't like that. He wasn't doing that."

"Yes he was."

"Please, Burke, let's go back to camp—"

But this enrages Burke, and he shakes Nathan violently, then shoves him against the low roof. Nathan bangs his head again and collapses. He is a heap on the floor, rising up on his arms, as Burke looms over him. "We ain't going nowhere." He is unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and stepping out of them furiously. A shadow plays over his bare arms and thighs. Nathan tries to stand and Burke says, "If you move from that spot I'll kill you right now."

He flings down the jeans. He stands there breathing. Nathan, dazed, can hardly keep him in focus. But the mass of him is there, waiting.

"That hurt you? When I pushed you?"

Nathan shakes his head.

"You do like I say, I won't hurt you."

Silence.

"You hear me?"

"Yes."

"You going to do like I say?"

"Yes."

He can focus now. A blur resolves to the motion of arms and legs, Burke standing over him, jerking him up by the shirt collar. Then rough motion ensues, that Nathan hardly follows, and his face is crushed against Burke, against fabric that smells of sweat; then Burke shoves his undershorts down his thighs and pushes his cock against Nathan's lips.

The house has become silent again. Burke looks down at Nathan, at Nathan's mouth, at his own hand around his cock. He runs his free hand roughly through Nathan's hair, then cups the back of Nathan's head. "You better do it."

Weariness. The hollow place in Nathan is echoing now, the inner wind is ripping him to rags, entering through the place where Dad tore him, the opening that Burke sees now, the wound that does not close. The dark attic fills with the sound that only Nathan can hear, the one note of the one song. He has knelt in this way before, there is nothing to do but let go again, with his head throbbing. It is as if he deserves it, as if both he and Burke understand that he is made for this use. There is a hole in Nathan, and Burke can see it; Dad opened a hole in Nathan, and now anyone can use it. He opens his mouth, he makes a circle. Burke pushes inside.

Burke is rough and clumsy. Worse, an urgency, a need to burn, fills him, and he batters Nathan. Nathan gags and can hardly get air, but Burke's band at the back of his head forces him to remain. Burke is very excited and breathes like a bellows. His body stiffens and presses spasmodically against Nathan. The skin smells of alcohol and sweat. Nathan focuses, as he learned to do with his father, on the small details, on the curling of a particular hair or the slight ridge of a vein. With Dad he learned not to close his eyes, it made Dad mad. But Dad could make a lot of noise, Burke is silent. He squeezes Nathan's head and there is something fierce in the pressure, added to the sudden thrust of Burke's groin, and the thing in Nathan's mouth swells up. Burke thrashes and gasps, shoving himself against Nathan's face. The hand hurts. Burke pushes him back to the floor and pounds himself against Nathan, banging his head on the floorboards, till Nathan is nearly unconscious.

But then he is thrown again, across something, roughly. He is reminded of Burke's strength, of the feeling of uncontrollable fury in him. When Nathan is still again, he kneels against a wooden beam. Burke comes behind him, jerking Nathan's shirt up his shoulders. Nathan's pants are already around his knees. Burke fumbles with Nathan's undershorts, ripping them before he slides the elastic across Nathan's buttocks. The sense of nakedness is keen. With his hand he is guiding himself into Nathan from behind, spitting into his palm and rubbing the spit on his cock. Nathan recognizes the sound, the motion. He tries to go away. There is no reason to run, it will end, it always does. But Burke is rougher than Dad, and when he enters it is as if he wants to make Nathan hurt, everything is tearing. Nathan whimpers a little and tries to push Burke off; but Burke wraps Nathan with both arms and slams into him. He is making harsh sounds and moving furiously, saying words Nathan can hardly hear. The feeling of violence swells, and Burke shoves his face to the floor, begins to pound it with his fist from behind, slamming hard, over and over again. He releases Nathan as he comes. Nathan lies perfectly still on the floor. His face is bloody, and he cannot open one eye. Burke whimpers as he pulls free of Nathan. He stares down at himself. His body is rigid, every muscle corded. His face is one wash of misery as he stares down, at nothing. He groans. His fist crashes down once, onto Nathan's gut; Nathan doubles over, chokes and gasps. Then something else flashes. Burke lifts the chair leg like a club. He tests the weight in his hand. He swings. He swings again.

It surprises Nathan, that he can hear his own skull crack. The last motion he sees is the chair leg falling into the center of his face. A hole opens up in his head, and the wind touches his brain. He is never sure when Burke leaves, whether he dresses first or carries his clothes. The night lasts a long time. He cannot rest.

After daylight Roy and Randy find him. Sun enters through the same windows that admitted moonlight the night before, and a bar of sunlight falls straight across Nathan. But he is still cold. He wishes for a blanket. There might be something in the room, he remembers falling into cloth, but he is too sore to move.

Roy's shadow crosses the attic floorboards. He stands there looking at Nathan. There is something ridiculous about him, it is really funny that Roy can look so helpless like this. He simply stands there. Randy comes up behind him and looks down and says, "Jesus." He stares at Nathan too. Somehow this all seems natural, even the fact that Nathan cannot move, cannot find his mouth, cannot acknowledge them. Then Randy heaves and doubles up and turns. Roy kneels. Touching Nathan's arm as he has done many times. Perfectly blank and listless, staring at the air over Nathan's head, he shakes his head once, as if to clear it.

Randy says, "Jesus. He's dead, ain't he? Just like Burke said."

"His arm is cold." "Look at his face."

Roy swallows. Tears are sliding down his cheeks. "Find something to cover him up. I can't stand to see him lying here like this."

"I swear, I can't look at him."

"Get me that cloth over there. Hand it to me. You don't have to look at him."

He sits there. His eyes are glazed. He takes the cloth from behind. With careful gentleness he spreads the fabric over Nathan, tucking it around his feet, across his shoulders. "I don't want to cover your face."

"What?" Randy asks.

"Nothing." He stands. His voice cascades downward. "You better go ahead with Burke. You better go now and get a head start."

"You think it happened like Burke said?"

"I don't trust nothing Burke said. Go on. Now."

Randy slides away. A long time passes. Roy sits against one of the posts, tucked tight into a ball. After a while this is almost comfortable, and even this seems natural to Nathan, who is still cold, who still cannot move.

He has the sense of lines dividing once more, of himself as if he is sleeping, peaceful as if he is lying on a shore listening to the waves of a sea.

He has gotten confused. There are people in the house, more than he can count, passing beneath in the corridors and outside along the porches. Voices of people everywhere, on every side, black voices and white voices, echoing.

He cannot tell whether time is passing or whether he is lying in it perfectly still.

Roy is hovering above him. Nathan knows it is a memory and he should not open himself to that. But he lets himself see Roy, the clean sad face hanging like a cloud.

Then his father replaces Roy, who has disappeared. Dad jerks the cloth off Nathan. It is a cold day, Nathan is very cold now, he is not sure what day it is, and Dad is taking off the cloth that keeps him warm. Flashlights are trained on Nathan to augment afternoon light. Dad is not alone, there are other voices, other men, and the crackling of a radio. Dad is looking down at him. This is not a memory but something else. Can Dad see the hole? Surely he can.

For a moment fear returns, as vivid as in the house in Rose Hill. It is as if this is the father of that night, a long time ago, with that father's younger bones and smoother skin. He with his flat belly and strong hands leans over Nathan, and there is something tender and sorrowful in his expression. Nathan wonders how Dad got here. Nathan wonders what Dad will want to do this time. Will it make any difference that Nathan has a hole in his skull?

But instead, Dad places the cloth over him tenderly. It is like a vision from some time in the future, or like something out of a dream. Dad covers Nathan's face with the gauzy cloth and Nathan is grateful for the thought of the quiet whiteness that waits beneath it. Except, just at the moment the cloth settles over him forever, he sees Roy waiting behind Dad, his face emerging out of the shadow, drawn and gaunt. The sight fills Nathan with a longing he can hardly contain.

He will shake his head to free himself. He has practiced the gesture for most of his life, he will find it easy. When he does, he will be in the present again, and he will be awake, and Dad will be nowhere near. He will shake his head, and sit up in the attic, and find Roy.

His mouth is dry and his lips are caked with blood.

The soft glow of early morning fills the attic. Light outlines the angled roof, ceiling beams, old boxes, an open steamer trunk littered with rat shit.

He stands carefully. His joints are stiff and sore but the pain is not so much.

Kneeling slowly, he peers out a window that offers a view of the side yard facing the barn, the path leading to the slave houses.

His head aches. When he touches it the flesh is very sore and tender. Blood is caked in clumps in his hair.

The bottle of liquor stands on the floor, in the same place where Burke left it. There is still liquor in the bottle.

Where he was lying, by the support beam, more blood has dried, in the vague outline of himself.

Is he trapped here? At first he is afraid he will not be able to leave the attic. But he finds the exit easily. The doorknob, solid to his touch, turns, he opens the door and descends.