Jim Grimsley - Dream Boy

The attic stair leads him down to the second story. The adjacent service stair has been boarded shut, and he can descend no further in that direction. So he picks a path down the upstairs corridors. He finds rooms from the night before. He finds the doll's foot, clean and shining. He finds the chair facing the fireplace, the room flooded with fight, the stain on the fabric clearly outlined. Nathan descends in perfect silence along the grand staircase into the vaulted foyer with the water pooled at the bottom, the fallen floor sagging toward earth. The room seems very beautiful and sweetly perfumed. Nathan wanders along the walls, careful of where he steps. He slips through the parlor, the library, into the back of the house, the ballroom with its sealed windows, the adjacent service rooms. Daylight trickles through the shutters. Ivy crawls the inner walls.

He finds the place they must have hidden, he and Roy. The room is plain and ordinary, a bedroom or even a storeroom. Smaller than it seemed in the dark. Something about the place draws him to stay. He stands where he stood when Roy knelt in front of him.

He explores further, rooms they missed when they were wandering in the dark. The house is larger than it seems. He has the feeling he could wander here, for a long time, so he is very careful to keep his bearings. The empty house welcomes him, yields itself to him. He visits the service rooms in the rear, the wrecked dining room, rooms that seem to have no purpose at all. But the end of his wanderings find him where he meant to be, in the room on the second floor where the tree has fallen against the house.

He stands near the open window, taking deep breaths of fresh air. His head is clearing. There is only one way to find out if he can leave the house, he sticks his head through the window, pushes with his arms, crawls over the sill. Aside from the fact that his limbs are stiff and sore, he exits without hindrance. He stands on the porch breathing the brisk morning air, autumn in the woods.

He walks through the garden at the side of the house. Many more of the flowers are blooming in the yard than he remembers from the day before, the garden a mix of well tended and wild. There are evening primrose, senna, asters, verbena, elecampane, gay feather, spiderflower, goldenrod, cone flowers, bottle gentian, ironweed, queen of the meadow, boneset, yarrow, cornflowers, false foxglove, turtleheads, and sunflowers. Names learned from his mother, remembered vividly. For a time he wonders if he will find her wandering here, reciting these names to herself. This would be her place. But the garden is deserted. He meanders among the wild flowerbeds, searching for the gate.

Morning sun floods the front yard. Out there is the creek and the place where they camped.

He walks to the campsite. His progress is slow at first, his limbs resist every motion, as if cracking, breaking, with each step. But the sunlight helps, and so does the cool creek water, bathing his cracked lips. He soaks his hair but can only begin to get rid of the blood. The ache of cold water on the bone is unendurable. The campsite is deserted. It might have been used a hundred years ago. Yet the ashes in the circle are still warm.

He leaves the vicinity of the house. It is as if he has been walking for a century at least. Down the remnants of Poke's Road he passes the uprooted tree. Soon he leaves sight of the lane of sentinel oaks, retracing the path of the morning walk that seems so long ago.

He rests in the clearing where Burke took off his shirt and drank liquor. He walks near the creek there, haunting the place. He soaks more of the dried blood from his hair. Feeling almost presentable again.

This is the place where he will meet Burke. Never in the attic, only here. Confused, pacing up and down the bank of the dark creek, Burke will be watching the road. It will be his image, it will always linger. It will wait for Nathan, it will wish for Roy. It will take off its shirt, it will be a man.

At the place where the boys camped for the night during the storm, Nathan sits under the tree at the edge of the clearing where they cooked and told stories. The rock circle at the center of the clearing holds the ghost of the fire. The blue of the sky has begun to deepen with clouds, as if a storm is coming. In the tremulous wind he kneels at the creek to bathe again. With careful motion he cleans his swollen lips, his bruised face. His hair feels soft and supple in his fingertips.

He rests again on the Indian mound later in the afternoon, sitting at the top where the grassy summit sails above the treetops. He can see all the way to the western horizon, the royal purple of the clouded sky, a sliver of sun behind the clouds that bursts into a piercing ray.

The mound is a haven, and there Nathan feels less alone. The calm green of the grass restores itself as the storm clouds thin and the sun swells again. It is easy to be here. The mound as a place of memory offers safety; he can remember the first time Roy brought him here. He can linger there, in that space of day as he remembers it. He can safely remember many things about Roy, he can even remember Roy turning his back and walking away. It was only once, only one time.

But the thought of Roy makes him restless. Finding Roy. Though Nathan is very tired now, he stands again, ignoring the fierce pain in his legs.

In the late afternoon he comes to the clearing that leads to the pond. He walks through the cemetery, past the cherub and his stubby wings, along the pond's edge. He keeps to the forest, walking the long way round the far end of the pond. He stops close to the houses. The yards are empty, eerie quiet emanating from beyond. The school bus sits under the trees. Dad's car is out of sight.

A woman stands on each of the porches. Each is looking into the woods, as if she has lost something there. Nathan recognizes his own mother, and Roy's. Roy's mother wears the faded blue apron Nathan has seen before. She crosses the yard to dump a pan of scraps into the compost heap near one comer of the bam. Her large body moves with rolling steps, in waves of fat. She returns to stand at the door again, her expression again obscured by the screen.

Nathan's own mother keeps her vigil further back, leaning on the doorjamb with the kitchen visible behind her. She hovers in shadow, and Nathan sees little more than her silhouette and stance. But he recognizes her by the crooked way she crosses her arms, one hand dangling loose. She carries the familiar aura of weariness, of having a veil over her vision. But he can feel her searching. She has not forgotten.

Nathan remains hidden in the shadow at the edge of the trees. Wondering why Roy's mother is searching. Wondering whether Roy ever came home.

He has no clear image of where he is headed as a final destination until he hears the music through the trees. It is late. The storm has cleared but the sun is low. A thin thread of piano and organ, "Blessed Redeemer, Jesus Is Mine" drifts from beyond.

Ahead, where the forest abruptly stops, the slanted sunlight falls very clear and bright. A green lawn slopes downward to where another creek flows, nestled among shaggy cedars. In the lap of that lawn a white church blazes, its sharp steeple rising above a broad oak.

Nathan waits at the top of the slope, hidden among the trees. Down the hill a lot of cars are parked in the grass, and people dressed like Sunday evening stand in the yard. The service has ended, and people are coming out of the sanctuary. The music continues, "Just As I Am, without One Plea." No one is singing, only the piano and organ play.

Then out of the church comes Roy.

He has been crying. A girl in a white dress walks with him. They move slowly as if they are underwater, and for a moment Nathan is mesmerized by the sight. A preacher talks in Roy's ear, offering comfort. The girl in the white dress strokes Roy's hair. The fact of the church service has lent her radiance; the white dress makes Nathan think this is their wedding, but no, there are no other signs, no car decorated with streamers, no showers of dry rice. It is only a white dress. Here is Evelyn with Roy. Roy lifts his head.

Now a lot of people crowd the churchyard. The sky over the steeple is flushing pink. When Nathan steps out of the woods, they all see him.

Nobody knows him but Roy. For a moment he can only stand there.

Roy releases Evelyn's arm, gently insistent. He walks toward Nathan with only a little hesitation. She follows him for a few steps. It may be that she calls his name, but there is a lot of noise in the churchyard, as the piano strikes up "Standing on the Promises."

Roy calmly walks toward Nathan. When he is close enough to be sure of what he sees, he runs.

He stops a few feet away. His heart is visibly pounding, fear and confusion surround him. He finds his voice with some effort. His eyes are glittering. "How did you get here?"

"I walked."

Someone else must have recognized Nathan, other people are starting to approach them now. Nathan reaches for Roy's hand but at the last moment is afraid to touch it. He backs away.

The motion makes Roy desperate. "Stop. Where are you going?"

"I don't think I can stay here."

"Stop. Please." His eyes are bright and glittering. He looks behind, at the shining church, at the scattering of people approaching across the lawn. Nathan retreats another few steps and Roy stumbles toward him. He reaches, arms out. "I didn't mean to leave you. I went back to that room but you were gone. Please don't go away again."

They are close. At first Nathan can hardly feel anything, can hardly feel Roy's hands. But then he can feel the warmth, and he can smell Roy's breath. And suddenly Nathan is certain he still has a body: because he can feel Roy near him, can smell the sweetness of his clean hair, his fresh shaven mustache. Suddenly they are embracing each other, disregarding everything that has happened, disregarding even the crowd of other people as they approach.

They face each other. The moment lengthens—the green of evening, the clear piano, the freshness of the white dress. The sweetness of living. Nathan waits and watches.

Finally he asks the question that has made him afraid all this time. "How long have I been gone?"

"Today." Roy can hardly form the words. "We left you today. The sheriff just went back with your dad. To get you." He breaks off, watching Nathan.

He is understanding, now. He is choosing. He looks deep into the trees.

Nathan turns and breaks into a gait between a limp and a trot. After a moment, silent, Roy follows, and takes his hand.

It is a relief that they can feel each other, that their hands are warm. It is a relief that they are in the same world. They disappear into the woods.

They stop to rest a little way inside the forest, under a gingko tree, its golden leaves showering around them as they get their breath. They have arrived on the evening when all of the gingko leaves will fall, leaving the tree naked as a skeleton. The tree stands in an open glade, catching the last shreds of light. Nathan says he needs to sit for a minute, and Roy says fine, and they sit, with the gingko leaves piling slowly around them, a snowdrift of saffron and amber.

They keep very quiet, listening for sounds of pursuit Roy slides an arm around Nathan's shoulders. Nathan feels all the reticence with which the gesture is performed, then sighs and leans against Roy. "You were dead," Roy says, but his tone is more of confiding than disapproving. "I saw you."

"I know."

They are aware, especially, of their own warmth in the pile of leaves.

"What do we do now?"

"Run away."

The notion of leaving hovers, they breathe it in. Roy examines the wound in Nathan's skull, a distracted quality to his scrutiny, as if he is seeing another picture. The image of fresher blood.