door as if it might reveal the handsome face but only his own sad eyes were caught in its blurred coldness.
Gaylord's legs ached. He left the door ajar and turned down the long corridor. It was filled with yelling and hurrying students. Their arms were burdened with books, but in their faces were no signs of pain. He kept close as possible to the wall, walking around the legs, backs, hips and arms, avoiding them rushing here and there. His feeling of frustration was intensified by the general atmosphere of the hall. Everything about it was oppressive. Years of walking down them; his whole life had been jailed in one of its blackboarded rooms; sitting for centuries behind uncomfortable marred and varnished desks; naked boys; frowning teachers and stupid geometry problems; smart aleck boys who laughed and whistled at tight sweaters filled with protruding breasts; cocked gay caps over short wiry hair. It all rolled through his memory, nailed there. He hated the whole combination and still longed to be a part of it. To walk and talk with the same sureness and naturalness they possessed.
He was aware of the friendliness around him and when someone asked, "How'd you get out so quick, Gay," it made him feel good. Several others spoke and it helped him so much. Perhaps they did like him. Perhaps it was he … his fault …
Suddenly, without any warning, his body was filled with a violent blast of fright, so enormous that every nerve in him became rigid and trembled with it, forcing him down and down. As if his eyes were moving of their own accord, rushing ahead of his body, he could see himself being caught up and hurled to the floor under its pressure. He flinched his eyes expecting the hand on his shoulder to tighten, to suddenly strike with a heavy slap, but it remained soft and small.
"Hello, Gaylord." The voice was melodious and feminine. The girl looked and looked at him, into and through him, before she went on. Then she smiled and said, "I didn't mean to scare you, Gaylord." The smile grew on her face. Her hand left his shoulder.
Something pounded back into Gaylord. He could feel it in his throat. It was difficult for him to speak, but when he did the words came out in a relieved sigh. "Oh … Lois Sue," he said, and then his face reddened. For some reason he always blushed when he shouldn't … for no reason at all … for some reason? Sure, he knew why.
