grotesque things upon it, the world was still wonderful. So complex in its simplicity.
And passing through the timeless and impenetrable forest, Gaylord dreamed. Nothing in particular … just dreamed. A great oak hung there, its trunk rough and broad, its limbs hanging with moss, stretching out and over the road, shutting out the moonlight. He looked at it with the bewildering excitement of a poor man unearthing a hidden treasure.
God makes beautiful things, young Gaylord thought, awed by their discovery. Beautiful skys and trees. He wished suddenly the top would fly back so he could see the miracles around even more plainly. Maybe that would give him courage to say the things within him. Things that were demanding to be said.
Automatically, he closcd his eyes, wondering what Blake was thinking of. The wind was from the south, fresh and strong in his face and hair. He dreamed of being a girl and, leaning back against the seat, sighed deeply. Maybe his life had changed. Maybe tomorrow and the many tomorrows things would be better. If I was a girl, he thought, I'd be in Bob's arms … he'd be loving me and kissing me … he'd be mine … he'd be …
"Hey," Blake's hand shook Gaylord. "Am I such bad company you go to sleep?" He left his hand on Gaylord's shoulder …
"I'm not asleep … and you'd never be bad company." Gosh, the hand felt good on his shoulder … "I was just thinking."
"About me?"
He knows I was thinking of him, thought Gaylord. He can read my thoughts …
"No …" he sputtered, "I wasn't thinking of you, Bob."
"I'm disappointed," grunted Blake. "Here I thought you were thinking of me."
"Suppose I was?" He remembered the kiss and the warmth that had come with it. There was nothing ugly or unpleasant about it … unless it was what people would say. And now he turned his back on the world. "Suppose I was thinking of you Bob … would that be unusual?"
"I don't see why … we're buddies, aren't we?"
"I hope we are."
