They drove in silence. Nothing but the sound of the motor echoed inside the moving machine.
He had been denied, shut out. His head felt heavy, almost too heavy for the cord in his neck to hold it up. Words filled his brain but they were tangled, twisted, meaning nothing, saying nothing. He looked like a figure of wax and ebony sitting upon a pedestal …
Thus, out of what seemed only a few short moments, with its embraces, meeting; school with its lessons and naked bodies; between the act of finally falling in love; the afternoon with Joy; Thelma; New Orleans; Paul; Glenn; slaps; kisses; Bob … Out of all this his downfall had been gradually forming.
"You were on my mind all afternoon, Bob," he began sadly. "I even wrote your name in the sand along the creek without realizing what I was doing. It scared me for a minute because I didn't know what Glenn would think. I didn't want him to know I loved you and I was afraid he could read my mind … I didn't want him to think we were … well … you know … Then, I didn't care. I wanted to tell him all about you … Tell him I loved you … I guess the same way you told Joy …"
"Oh yeah?" Blake interrupted.
"Yes, Bob, that's what I wanted to say … but I didn't." His lips quivered. "I'm sorry for what happened between me and Joy. I know it was wrong and I can understand the way you must feel about me. I think she knew I was thinking of you all the time. I was so ashamed afterwards … would have given …"
"There's some things you can't undo after they've been done," Blake said gravely. "Anyway it's all over now …"
The next moments passed with unbearable slowness, but at least Blake's last words had not been cruel. Gaylord covered his face hearing their despondency. A mosquito began to sing around his ear but he didn't care. Let it bite … let it bite hard … his blood was … useless to him … it felt like water. Then he heard, "Son-of-a-bitch," and Blake slapped hard at his own cheek. A mosquito can get him to talk, Gaylord thought, and he was envious of the singing pest.
Out of the corner of his eyes he watched Blake get another cigarette. He lit it, puffed a few times, and flipped it from him distaste-
