Date: Tue, 17 Dec 2013 16:27:51 -0800 (PST)
From: Seth Kirkcauldy <seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net>
Subject: Revival

Revival
copyright 2013 Seth Kirkcauldy
seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story may not be reproduced in whole or in part
without the author's permission.  The author grants the Nifty Archive a
non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancellable
license to display this work.

This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or
dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are a
product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.

This story contains gay themes.  If it is illegal for you to read this, or
you just think it's yucky, please leave now.

Please donate to the Nifty Archive.

Readers: This short story does NOT contain graphic sexual descriptions.  If
you have a washcloth folded beside you right now, you probably landed on
the wrong story for your intent.  It is also set in the poor, rural
counties of Arkansas in 1975; this is not a story about contemporary
teenagers.  Finally, it is a brief glimpse of a boy's life in the summer of
his coming-of-age and does not seek to end Happily Ever After.  It ends as
most glimpses do, with some things unresolved.


Egbert Nathan Wallace - "Egg" to everyone he knew in the Northwestern
Ozarks of Arkansas - was fifteen during the summer of 1975 when he finally
defied his moniker and struggled free of his shell.  The summer had started
with an unusual growth spurt that left his scrawny wrists and ankles
shooting free of his Sunday clothes and now was ending in a prolonged blaze
of baking heat and lazy humidity that soothed his overstretched bones and
joints.  He was suddenly as tall as a man and looked as thin and brittle as
his pop's disciplinary hickory switch.

He was scuffing his feet along the dirt path to his friend Possum's house,
scowling and ignoring the world around him in the way of teenagers.  His
body was still baffled by its new dimensions and he tripped twice over his
own overlarge feet.  The retreat of summer was prompting particular angst
this year, since school would bring new tortures associated with his
dramatic physical changes, along with the more accustomed annual plagues of
books and teachers.  Egg was not a scholar; and if it hadn't been for the
help of his English teacher, Mr. Salyer, he would have flunked his native
language.

As he strolled closer to Possum's house, Egg took an especially vicious
kick at an unoffending stone and watched in satisfaction as it sailed in a
long arc into the trees.  He felt he had scored an unexpected point in the
cosmic game he played where the rules were uncertain and the other players
unseen.  Kicking the stone into the trees had been the right move -
although he couldn't say why - and he enjoyed the other team's amazement at
his surprise gambit.  Take that, shitheads.

Egg immediately glanced around.  Pop would scrub his mouth with borax if he
ever heard that word uttered.  But the trees seemed to be free of mind
readers, so Egg relaxed the set of his bony shoulders and continued his
sulk.  Although he appreciated the help Mr. Salyer had been in the daunting
war with sentence diagrams, he did not appreciate the hopeless and
flustered feeling he always had around the teacher and the subject he
taught.  It made him unaccountably angry, as so many things did these days.

The wood and tar shack that Possum lived in was poorer than Egg's own
family's home; but its corrugated tin roof and broken windows had become
merely the landscape of his childhood, something he took for granted and
did not understand as poverty.  Egg let himself in the front door, which
was really just a large piece of plywood leaning against the doorframe to
keep out the rain.  He found Possum at the grubby table, holding a fork
like a shovel and eating his breakfast of biscuits covered in chocolate
gravy.  The boy looked up from his meal and gave Egg a messy smile.

Possum was only seven years old, but was Egg's friend despite the vast
difference in their ages.  The boy's given name was Charles, after his
daddy, but not many people called him that for reasons having to do with
both the boy and the man.

Egg's Aunt Beauty told him once that Charles Jr. had the "taint," although
Egg had no idea what that meant.  But he did know that at the age of seven
Possum's long, fine hair was already as grey as a grandfather's.  In fact,
it was remarkably like the color of the native opossum that lived in the
mountains around them.  Although his hair had started turning grey when he
was just a toddler, the family hadn't the funds to see the recommended
specialist; so, with no one more knowledgeable to weigh in on the matter,
Aunt Beauty's diagnosis stuck and everyone agreed that Possum had the
taint.

Possum gestured at the half-empty jar of Bosco on the table.  "Want some,
Egg?" he asked politely.

"Naw.  I ate.  Thanks."  Egg stretched across the table with his new
acquired reach and fondly ruffled Possum's dirty, grey hair.  "What we
gonna do today, Charles?"

Possum scowled, looking particularly menacing with chocolate around his
mouth.  "Don't call me that name, Egbert Nathan Wallace."

Egg grinned.  "What kind of name is Possum?  We can't call you that
forever, you know."

"I reckon you got enough first names for both of us," Possum replied,
shoveling in his last bite of breakfast, which - by anyone's sober
reckoning - ought to have been at least five separate bites.

"I guess we gotta trap the coon that's gettin' in the still," Possum said
thoughtfully, around his mouthful of biscuits and Bosco.

Egg nodded without meeting the boy's blackened eye.  A wild animal had been
getting into the corn mash in Charles Sr.'s still, and Possum had paid the
price for his daddy's loss.  The stupid drunk thought his son was
responsible, although what a seven year old would want with a bunch of sour
mash, Egg couldn't begin to guess.  Charles Sr. had been laid off from work
for two years, and now he spent most of his days half-drunk, ostensibly
using his still to make moonshine to sell in the dry county.  Egg doubted
that any of the moonshine actually made it to customers.

"Then I figure we can go watch them put up the tent for the revival,"
Possum added, having finally swallowed his enormous bite of breakfast.

"They're here?" Egg wondered.  "Really?  They made it?"

"Yup.  I saw 'em behind the DQ yesterday.  I reckon they'll start revival
tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.  Didn't your pop say nothin' to you
about it?"

Pop was a deacon at the local church and would certainly have known when
the revival was starting, but Egg was careful to avoid Pop all summer, if
possible.  Otherwise, the chores and lectures came down upon him like the
plagues in Egypt.  When he was younger, it was the chores he resented most,
but nowadays it was the lectures.  Pop acted like Egg didn't know anything
about anything.

"I haven't talked to Pop in a while," Egg said carefully.

Possum grinned ruefully and scrunched up his blackened eye.  "I might know
a thing or two about that," he said, and then pushed himself back from the
table.  He wiped his mouth on his shirt and stomped barefoot out the door
with Egg close behind.

"What you gonna do with the coon once you catch it?" Egg asked the young
boy, following him out to the shed which really didn't look much different
than the house.  Trash cans stood lonely sentinel next to the building.
Their lids had been pried off with clever claws and the garbage strewn
around.  The two boys gathered it up.

At first, Possum joked his revenge on his daddy, "Feed it all the mash it
wants, of course," but then he turned serious.  "I'll kill it.  Wear it to
school like a Davy Crocket hat."

That seemed likely to Egg.  Possum would be grateful for an excuse to cover
up his hair, which probably got him plenty of tormenting from other kids.

When they finished cleaning up, Possum headed into the shed to lay a trap
by the mash barrel.  When the boy had opened the door, Egg heard him swear
like a seven year-old ought not to know how to do, and so he came up behind
him to see the problem.

Charles Sr. was laid out unconscious on the floor.  With his mouth wide
open, Possum's father was snoring loudly, vomit leaking down his face and
puddling beneath his head.  The worst smell in the small building was
clearly not coming from the mash nor the still, nor unfortunately, even the
vomit.

Possum's face was white with embarrassment and fury.  He spit on the prone
body and slammed the door closed again, stalking away toward the road.  Egg
followed him silently for a long time.

"You reckon your mamma will take you to revival tonight?" Egg asked him
quietly.

"I reckon," Possum sighed, sounding lost and thrusting his small hands in
his pockets.  "I hope it starts tonight.  We could use a good revival."

"We could use something, all right," Egg breathed.  "Almost anything,
really."

They hiked to the Dairy Queen which was not yet open for the day.  The
morning light reflected off the windows of the building, giving them the
pearlescent haze of cataracts.  With the bright, stylized lettering, the
posters of Dennis the Menace, and the pictures of colorful ice cream
treats, the building was an odd mix of a cheerful construct in a forlorn
location.  It was like an old woman wearing a bright dress and too much
makeup to the funeral of a friend.

Behind the DQ sprawled the big empty lot that the boys used for softball
throughout the summer.  Now it was covered in a huge square of canvas while
the unemployed men of the church rushed around with ground stakes and
advice.  Egg had heard his mamma say once that the raising of a revival
tent was similar to the raising of a circus big top: all of the clowns, but
none of the fun.

A long bus was parked on the packed dirt.  It appeared to be a converted
school bus, painted over with white paint, amorphous paisley designs, and
floating peace signs.  The careful lettering on the side announced
COLDWATER MINISTRIES and the world-famous COLDWATER FAMILY QUINTET.

They hadn't had the bus the prior year, and Egg knew that his pop would not
be pleased about the funky art on the exterior.  The Coldwaters were
God-fearing folk, but they skirted on the edge of secular culture.  Pop had
said more than once that he was afraid the Coldwaters were becoming a
little too worldly to do Heaven much good.  Pop was especially against all
the doodads that the Coldwaters brought to sell.  Egg had really wanted a
medallion necklace on a thick chain he'd seen the prior year.  One side had
a peace sign embossed on it, and the other simply said, "Keep on Truckin'
for Jesus."

The door on the bus pushed open and a young man stepped out.  His brown
hair was long enough to reach his shoulders, but was currently sticking up
like he'd just gotten out of bed.  Egg watched him as he stretched out his
muscles, flexing unselfconsciously.  He was probably about seventeen, and
was wearing gym shorts that hugged his hips tightly, and tube socks that
encircled his calf muscles with their two bright red rings.

Egg recognized him immediately.  Silas Coldwater played the drums for the
family singers.  He was the oldest son of his evangelist father and shared
the man's charisma and handsomeness.  He didn't share all the same thoughts
on morality, however, and - if you believed the gossip of the church women
- left a trail of broken hearts throughout the Ozarks.

Pop liked neither Silas' long hair nor the drums in church.  "Drums are
from Africa," he'd say to explain his position to the other deacons.  He
was equally against the sale of religious merchandise in general and the
peace medallions in particular.  Although his true objection was to jewelry
made for men, he'd invoke the clearer principles of the money changers in
the temple and remind them all how Jesus overthrew the tables.

"But we'll be in a tent, not the church," Brother Williams would point out.

"The church is not a building," Pop would retort ominously, and they'd all
nod in agreement at this sagacity.

Silas Coldwater sauntered over to where Egg stood with Possum and regarded
him blurrily.  "Mornin'," he offered, in a soft, growly voice.  "You live
here?"

"Yeah," Egg replied.  "I'm Egg," he held out his hand and had it grasped
quickly.

"Egg?  Bet that's fun at school.  I'm Sy Coldwater.  You know where I can
get some breakfast and coffee?"

"You could eat Egg for breakfast," Possum said, giggling at his simple
joke.  The words made Egg flush right up to his ears.  In the ensuing
silence, Silas carefully studied the spreading color on Egg's face,
smirking wordlessly, and making Egg even more uncomfortable.

"I think the church women have a table set up over there," Egg finally
managed to say, gesturing toward the other side of the field.  "Mrs. McKay
will set you up with grits and biscuits."

"Awright.  Thanks then.  Y'all come to revival tonight, okay?"  Silas
studied Egg some more, then turned and walked away.

"We'll be there!" Possum yelled after him.  Egg just nodded at the
departing back, but didn't have anything to say.

The boys stayed at the field for the next few hours, watching the tent
slowly rise along with the heat of the day.  The fabric peaked above the
trees to create a vaulted canvas cathedral that stirred something within
Egg's chest to see it.  The tent was bigger than life, and it had been a
long time since Egg had felt any emotion that dared creep out of the shadow
of his teenage anger and perpetual disappointment.  It wasn't even the tent
itself so much that stirred those feelings, as it was watching the
beaten-down and unemployed men from the rural town apply themselves
successfully to such a large project.

"I reckon I should get back and set that trap, Egg," Possum said finally,
squinting against the glaring sun.  "Meet you at the swimmin' hole later?"

"Sure," Egg agreed distractedly.  His eyes scanned the field carefully,
although he would have found it difficult to articulate what he was looking
for.  He had seen Silas Coldwater a few times through the morning and had
garnered a nod and half-smirk once.  Otherwise, they hadn't spoken again.

As Possum wandered away to see to his chores, Egg decided he should head
home too.  If he returned home now, he could avoid his pop without looking
too obvious about doing so.  The lawn needed mowing, the shed needed to be
painted, and Egg knew that the garage needed to be cleaned out.  The next
time Pop caught him, he'd get all of these chores handed to him along with
a blistering lecture on slothfulness.  But if he were early enough, Pop
would still be at work and Egg could safely slide in for Mamma's hot lunch.

Egg stumbled along the path that led from the DQ to his home.  The packed
dirt trail ambled through the trees and meandered lazily around a dolomite
cliff face before leading Egg finally to the boulders at the edge of the
swimming hole.

There, Egg found a dozen children, all boys, screeching and hollering,
splashing and diving.  This was one of his favorite places, a retreat where
the melancholy which had settled into the adults of the town was battled
back with sheer joyful exuberance.  Complacency, apathy, and depression
held no quarter here; the boys drove it back with the tribal pulsating of
their ululating cries.  Their skinny wet-slick teen bodies glittered like
young water gods, hipbones pushing out of their tight skin like handles.

As Egg watched, Hank Ruthford launched himself from the cliff above with a
whoop and sent a spray of cold, stagnant water rocketing upward like a
geyser.

Egg contemplated shedding his clothes there on the rock with all the
others, and joining the pagan cabal, but his stomach reminded him of his
hunger, and he remembered he'd promised to meet Possum here later.  He
enviously watched for a few minutes more before turning regretfully toward
the path to continue his trek home.

Only a few minutes further along, Egg saw a flash of movement which turned
out to be Mr. Salyer, his English teacher, sitting under a tree.  The man's
back was pressed against the trunk and he was writing in his notebook, eyes
scrunched with concentration.  Pop said Mr. Salyer was a queer, and Egg
noticed that the man was always scribbling in notebooks, which did seem
pretty odd to him.

Although it was a humid afternoon, Mr. Salyer was dressed in a long-sleeved
linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, showing strong, tan forearms.  The
fine, dark hairs on those arms were slick with a sheen of sweat that made
Egg's stomach tumble pleasantly.

Mr. Salyer smiled in welcome, shielding his eyes from the sun.  "Hello,
Egbert."

"Hey, Mr. Salyer.  You still scribbling?"

That seemed to amuse the man.  He smiled again, kindly, and gestured
vaguely at his notebook.  "Yep.  Still scribbling."

Mr. Salyer had ink on his nose, and Egg scratched at his own in sympathy,
loosening a flake of skin from the sunburned bridge.

"How come?"  Egg scrunched up his eyes in confusion, and wondered how
anyone could waste a perfectly hot, sunny day with a pen and notebook.

Mr. Salyer leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.
"Writing allows me to remember things I've never done," he responded, and
that sounded important to Egg, but probably queer, too.

"I ain't done lots of things," Egg mused, stuffing his dirty hands in his
dirty pockets.  "Haven't, I mean," he corrected hurriedly.

"What do you want to do, Egbert?"

This seemed important too, and Egg allowed himself to think about it for a
moment.  The sultry air was thrumming with insects, and further away he
heard a splash and laughing from the swimming hole, but when he looked up
he discovered Mr. Salyer watching him intently.  The look was neutral but
curious, and the tumbling in Egg's stomach turned to queasiness.

"I think I want to ask Mamma for a quarter and go to the DQ," Egg said
quickly.  Then he turned and walked away with his hands still in his
pockets and his stomach fluttering uneasily.  He hadn't known what he
really wanted to do, but he knew it had more to do with tanned forearms
than DQ cones.

Within twenty minutes the path brought him out of the woods to the clearing
where his family's house stood.  His father's car was not yet in the
driveway.  Encouraged, Egg left the concealing forest edge and made his way
to the front porch where he found Mamma and Aunt Beauty chortling and
gossiping to the rhythm of stringing an overflowing bushel of green beans.
As they watched Egg approach, their hands and conversation paused.  Aunt
Beauty took advantage of the loll to puff eagerly on her gnarled pipe and
studied her nephew shrewdly.

To the same degree to which Egg's and Possum's names fit their owners, Aunt
Beauty's did not.  She was squat and warty like a toad, and feisty and
lethal as a bog witch.  She wore a skirt she'd made herself from a stained
and ragged fabric; nylon stockings stretched over varicose veins in a
topographical map that no man had ever charted, and runs in the stockings
streaked down her legs like pinstripes to her raggedy, laced-up boots.  Her
loaded shotgun lay on the porch at her feet; she never went anywhere
without it.  Egg loved her completely.

"Prodigal returns," she growled playfully, bushy eyebrows lifted while
smoke curled from her mouth and nose.  "It must be lunchtime."

"Yes'm," Egg replied politely.

"Must've worked up quite an appetite avoiding your pop the way you've
been," his mother added archly, but her dark eyes twinkled.  Wisps of hair
had escaped her bun and curled around her ear in a sweat-slicked coil.

"Ahhhh..." Egg gurgled.  "Well, I..."

"There's some cold pork out on the table for you with grits and a bit of
cornpone.  You'll mow this yard and clean it up before you're off again."

Egg ducked his head and flushed.  "Yes'm," he said again, and then he was
moving past them and pushed the door open to go find his lunch.

An hour later Egg had a full stomach and his neck was prickling
uncomfortably in the heat as he raked up grass, leaves and other detritus
from his yard work.  While he found the labor easy, giving up an hour of
his summer was not.  He would be sixteen in just a couple months, and he
knew he should start behaving more like the man that his body insisted that
he was; but it was not easy to choose work when the summer beckoned so
compellingly to the boy's spirit still haunting the places within him.

"His wife's a mousy thing," Aunt Beauty observed casually.  Her pipe was
clamped in her teeth while her hands went through the automatic motions of
snapping and stringing the beans.  They had been putting up beans for the
past two days and would probably continue through the end of the week.  Egg
was only half-listening to their ongoing gossip, but he suddenly drew in
his breath and tried to rake more quietly.

"I think that oldest son gets his personality from his daddy," agreed Mamma
disapprovingly.  "They say that boy fathered the still-born baby on Eulis
Crab's daughter."  She was shaking her head wearily.

Aunt Beauty grunted at this.  "Eulis Crab looks at his own daughter in an
ungodly way, and everyone knows he blames that evangelist boy for something
he done hisself."  She puffed once on her pipe and grabbed another handful
of beans to put in her lap.  "Now if it'd been Eulis' son who ended up
pregnant, I might've believed that Coldwater boy did it," she said
wickedly.

Egg's mamma bit back a quick laugh and covered her mouth.  "Beauty, you're
awful."

Egg closed his eyes against the surge of adrenaline that rushed his veins
and settled uneasily in his stomach.  His feelings were abstract and
unfocused; they confused him, and that made him angry.  Sometimes he felt
he could drown in the depths of feelings like these.

He returned the rake to the shed and waved to his mother from the edge of
the yard.  "I'm heading to the swimmin' hole," he called to her, his voice
cracking with emotions he couldn't name.  If he was going to drown, he'd
rather do it in water.

She nodded from the porch and called back, "You get home early.  Revival
starts tonight."

"Yes'm," Egg replied automatically, and turned into the cool shelter of the
woods.

***

"How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, Is laid for your faith in
His excellent word!  What more can He say than to you He hath said- You,
who unto Jesus for refuge have fled?"

The hymn filled the canopy at the pace of a dirge, and while the words were
stirring, the tempo was not.  Egg had to stifle a yawn in the middle of the
second verse.

He glanced around self-consciously.  Possum stood beside him with his small
grey head coming up to about Egg's chest and a foul odor wafting from him -
probably the stagnant water they'd been swimming in all afternoon.  Egg had
had a proper bath when he'd gotten home, but Possum evidently had not.  The
younger boy had arrived alone shortly after Egg; neither of his parents was
in attendance.

Mr. Salyer stood a couple rows away, sharing a hymnal with Mrs. Shiner, the
organist.  There was no instrument for her to play in the tent and so she
sat among the rest of the congregation.  She was trying to tap out the
tempo of the song on the back of a folding chair to help the people around
her, but they were weighed down by the many other voices plodding errantly
forward.

Egg's mamma and pop sat a few rows behind him, providing him a bit of space
and freedom while still allowing them to watch everything he did during the
service.  Egg could hear Pop's rich baritone lifted confidently, and it
made him wish he had inherited more of his voice and less of his
somberness.  His pop wasn't really a bad sort, but all of his sharp traits
seem to match perfectly to each of Egg's raw spots.  These days they danced
a complicated series of steps that often had them treading on each others'
toes, sometimes purposefully.

When the song finally concluded everywhere and in stages, the Coldwater
Quintet took up their instruments and microphones and launched into a
lively version of "This Land is Your Land."  Egg could feel his pop's
glowering disapproval somewhere behind him and it made him grin.  He wasn't
sure why he thought it was funny, but he did.  Sy Coldwater happened to
catch the expression from his perch on the stage, and smiled back at Egg,
lifting his eyebrows comically while twirling his drumsticks expertly.
This cracked Egg up and earned him an elbow in his ribs from young Possum.

The Quintet followed up with "Day By Day" from the musical, Godspell, and
Egg was shaking with mirth at the idea that somewhere behind him, his pop
was certainly apoplectic.  It did not help Egg's composure that Sy kept
smiling openly at him, handsome and sweaty.  Flushed with the heat trapped
beneath the tent, Egg realized that for the first time in a long while he
felt a stirring in his spirit.  At least, he was fairly certain that's
where the stirring originated.

When they'd finished their set, the Quintet members all sat, except for the
patriarch, the evangelist Reverend Cecil Coldwater.  He was a large man,
both in height and girth, and he dressed fashionably in a white polyester
leisure suit with wide lapels and a print shirt.  The white of his shoes
matched exactly the white of his suit, which matched exactly the shade of
his teeth which were always on display in a wide smile that fell somewhere
between that of a politician, and that of a barracuda.  He was grinning
into the microphone, pacing the stage as he let the silence spin over the
crowd, growing along with their anticipation.

"Sin," the reverend said simply and finally, letting the word roll out like
thunder to fill the tent and the people with its power.  He stopped moving
and turned to face the congregation, repeating the word once more as if he
were giving them a vicious, condescending slap: "Sin."

Egg knew he was in the hands of a mighty man of God, and shivered at the
power of his voice.  He settled back to hear a night's worth of ranting
about sin as the reverend found his rhythm and set forth calling down the
brimstone.  He didn't spare anyone, managing to fit in the drinkers and the
wife- beaters and those that gambled or swore.  He went on for a time about
the abomination of unnatural love without ever revealing what that entailed
for those who might want to avoid it.  He railed against those who were
slothful, and Egg felt the back of his neck burning where he was sure his
pop was glaring at him.

Reverend Coldwater also denigrated many modern television shows and
helpfully supplied a quick list of those he felt did not pass muster;
however, there were only a few families in the whole county who owned a
television set and they weren't in attendance that evening, presumably
having other things to do.  Egg wondered if those families - friends of his
- would continue to watch The Jeffersons and Match Game PM without
understanding their mortal peril.

The sermon ended in the way Egg had grown accustomed to most tent meetings
concluding, with about four hundred verses of "Just As I Am."  It was
obvious that the Reverend would not be dismissing the crowd until at least
half of them came down during the invitation, and so after thirty or so
minutes of wanting to be home, some reluctant volunteers started ambling
forward.  Egg was pretty sure he saw more than one wife pushing her husband
into the aisle, and once the confused man discovered himself there, he just
walked on down.

The final tallies seemed a bitter disappointment to the Reverend, but he
finally gave in to the clock and let everyone leave well after the fall of
darkness, knowing that he still had a couple more evenings to reach the
others.

Business at the merchandise tables seemed to be a bit more brisk than at
the altar.  The entire Coldwater family was staffing the tables grabbing
cash and turning over bibles, crosses, watches, tie clips and puka shell
necklaces.  Egg was examining the song list on the back of "A Coldwater
Christmas" 8-track tape.

"I can let you have that at a discount," Sy confided to him with a wink.
Egg grinned at the offer, but shook his head shyly.

"I'm afraid the discount would have to be about one hundred percent in
order for me to be able to afford it," he replied quietly.

Silas nodded at this, holding his eye and sliding the conversation easily
away from Egg's embarrassment.  "There any good fishin' spots around here?"

"I know some good ones," Egg confirmed quickly.  "There's a pond off the
McKay's land that's real good if you're there early in the morning."

"Hey!  That's our place, Egg," Possum objected from somewhere at his elbow.
Egg had forgotten he was there.

"I reckon we can loan it to Silas for the few days he's here, don't you?"

Possum set his mouth in a grimace, but then recalled the sin of selfishness
that Reverend Coldwater had just been shouting about, and reluctantly
nodded his approval.

"Good, then," Silas smiled.  "Could you show me where it is?"

"I could come by the bus in the morning around sun-up if you'd like a
guide," Egg offered.

Silas nodded.  "Awright.  I'll see you in the mornin' then."

Egg nodded back.

"See you then," Possum said loudly, as if he'd been invited.  Sy's lips
twitched as he caught Egg's eye, and then he was off to help another
customer.

Egg looked around the crowded area and finally located Pop standing in the
shadow of the DQ building with Mr. Tribien.  The men had obviously and
purposefully stepped away from the other people.  Mr.  Tribien was worrying
one hand through his thinning hair and glanced about furtively as he spoke
quietly to Pop.

The impromptu meeting looked covert and sneaky, characteristics he would
never associate with his father, so Egg ambled in that direction,
eventually picking up the gentle murmur of their conversation.  After only
a moment Pop interrupted the man gently, raising one hand while his other
reached for his wallet.  He said something that made Mr. Tribien shake his
head roughly, but Pop removed several bills and pressed them into his hand.

Mr. Tribien looked up to see Egg's eyes on them and even in the dark Egg
could see the flush that suddenly colored his face.  The man's rough hand
balled up the bills and shoved them in his pocket.  He murmured a final
word to Pop, and then drifted away quickly into the dark.

"Would you like a ride home, Charles?" Pop asked Possum, who was still in
his perpetual orbit around Egg.  He placed an easy hand on each of their
shoulders and led them toward the DQ parking lot.

"No sir," Possum answered quickly.  "I'll walk thanks.  See you in the
mornin', Egg."  He shrugged his bony shoulder out from under the large hand
and ghosted away into the darkness.  Pop seemed puzzled at the disappearing
boy, but all he said to Egg was, "I think Charles needs a bath."

He led his son toward the car with gentle pressure from his hand.  Egg
chafed under the suffocating touch, and finally raced ahead to get out from
under it.  His father's hand hung unsupported in the air for a moment until
he let it drop, empty.

Egg gratefully slid into the backseat of the Oldsmobile, a space that was
his alone, and he immediately cranked down the window to entice the cooler
night air inside the stuffy car.

"Good news today from Brides'," Pop said softly to Mamma after he'd started
the car.  He was carefully navigating the narrow dirt streets, hands
perfectly at ten and two on the steering wheel as he avoided the townsfolk
in the dark who were sharing the road to walk home.  Egg would have
preferred to walk, too, using the forest path, but he wasn't allowed when
wearing his church clothes.

"They going to open the quarry?"  She asked with a hitch in her voice.
This caught Egg's attention and he swiveled his head to catch the
conversation.

"Looks like it," Pop answered.  "They say there's plenty of Boone chert
left to quarry."

Mamma dabbed at the sweat on the back of her neck with the hanky she
carried all summer.  "Well hallelujah for answered prayers," she sighed.
"That should get a lot of men back to work."

"Most of 'em," Pop agreed.  His voice held repressed hope, as if he clamped
down on it to keep it from breaking free and hurting someone.  "They say
they'll need up to forty men."

"Lord," Mamma breathed.  "That'd cover all of them plus some over in
St. Joe's."

Pop nodded stoically.  Egg knew how to read his father, though, and the
tightened hands on the steering wheel belied the calm exterior.  The
poverty of his neighbors weighed heavily upon him; and the tendons in his
strong forearm tensed beneath the black band of the digital watch that
Mamma had bought him for their anniversary.

Pop was inordinately proud of that futuristic watch.  Its face was dark
until you pressed a button on the side, and then the time lit up in a
space-age red glow.  Pop never failed to show it to new acquaintances,
allowing them to push the button for themselves.  He'd point out that it
could even be used in complete darkness and never needed winding.  Pop
showed an unexpected enthusiasm for the timepiece that surpassed most any
other thing in his life.

"Hey Pop?  What time is it?" Egg asked in the quiet car, offering a type of
apology for the innumerable crimes of adolescence.  His mamma caught his
eye and smiled.

The next morning found Egg stumbling out of bed in the half-dark of the
coolest time of day.  His teenage body found it an unnatural time to be
ambulatory, and it responded leadenly to each of Egg's commands.  His
thoughts were as blurry as his vision and he almost curled up on the floor
once when he'd sat down to pull on his socks; but he eventually made it out
the door just as dawn was painting the clouds and the rooster in the coop
down the road was bawling its fool head off.  He'd tried to make a thermos
of coffee, but was dismayed by the chunks that were floating around in it;
nevertheless, he had the thermos grasped in one hand when he arrived at the
DQ to find Silas and Possum already waiting.  The boys stood a bit
awkwardly in each other's company, both awaiting Egg to provide a common
touch point.

At first, Egg thought the dark circles under Possum's eye was from lack of
sleep, but as he drew closer, he saw the boy had a new shiner to match his
other one.  There were also dark bruises blooming like violet cuffs around
his arms, and when he grinned crookedly, there was a tooth missing.

Egg hissed out a curse, and Possum looked quickly away from the concern he
found on Egg's face.  "I'm awright, Egg.  Honest."

Egg nodded, but didn't trust himself to say anything.  His brain was in a
foggy haze and he couldn't think of how to best offer comfort to his small
friend, who didn't seem to want it anyway.

Egg hadn't slept very well the night before, his mind abuzz with
considering how he would ask what he most wanted to know about Silas
without tipping his own hand.  After lying awake for interminable hours, he
finally decided he would simply ask where Sy's girlfriend lived and see
what came of that.  He worked out his wording and tone until he felt he had
it nailed down perfectly in his mind before he finally allowed himself to
fall into an exhausted slumber.

They were already in the boat and sunrise was behind them when Silas broke
the morning stillness.

"Are you dating one of the girls in town, Egg?"  Sy asked casually as he
cast his line across the glassy pond.  Tiny ripples gently corrugated from
the entry point of his bait until they reached the small rowboat where they
apparently knocked Egg off his narrow bench.  He scrabbled gracelessly on
the floor of the boat until he righted himself, blushing furiously.

Silas watched him flounder quizzically while Possum actually answered the
question.  "Egg don't date nobody.  'Course Rita Snowfeld don't seem to
know that, or take 'no' for an answer."

"That right?" Sy asked in a serious drawl while Egg regained his seat and
eased his fishhook out of the thigh of his cutoffs.  "Tell me about her,
Possum."

"Well," said Possum, squinting.  "She's fat."

Egg rolled his eyes but said nothing, keeping his attention on the task of
baiting his hook.  His face still burned and the blood was pounding in his
ears, but not so loud that he didn't catch every word Silas said.

"Sort of curvy, eh?  I like that," Silas confided.

"Um, no..." Possum said.  "Mostly she's just fat.  And she has more
whiskers than a catfish."

Egg glanced up to see Silas biting his lip to keep from laughing.  The
mirth he found there on Silas' face was too infectious for Egg to become
angry, so he merely swiped a hand through his short hair and offered a
rueful grin.

"You like curvy women, huh?" Egg wondered.

"And the more whiskers, the better."  Sy winked at him and Possum fell to a
fit of giggles, but Silas held Egg's gaze steady with his own until Egg's
mouth went so dry he couldn't swallow.

The morning wore away slowly while the boys made far too much noise to have
any hope of catching a fish.  Around all the talk, Sy and Egg had traded
multiple glances that just missed each other, but of which both were well
aware.  In fact, after they had been in the cramped boat for about two
hours, Egg felt he was going to go crazy.  The heat was starting to rise,
and Egg could smell the faint tang of Sy's sweat each time he cast his rod.

There was a sudden lull in the conversation and Possum had gotten up to pee
over the side of the boat; his small back was to the older boys and the
faint splashing the only sound that filled the morning.  Silas turned to
peer intently at Egg, suddenly filling the small space with buzzing,
nervous energy.  Egg watched the other boy's Adam's apple bob in an anxious
swallow, and then Silas was suddenly standing and reaching over to push
Possum into the pond with a spectacular splash.

Egg's mouth fell open in surprise, but before he could say anything at all,
Sy was there in front of him again, stooping down for a fast sloppy kiss on
Egg's gaping lips.

Egg had just regained his senses enough to want to kiss him back when Silas
whirled back around to haul a sputtering Possum back into the boat.

"I'm so sorry, Possum," Silas was saying, thumping Possum on the back and
helping him catch his breath.  "I think I'm too big to turn around in this
li'l boat.  You okay, buddy?"

But Possum was spitting mad.  "I think you done that on purpose!"

"Why would I do that?"  Silas asked reasonably.

Possum glared at him with reddened eyes that flicked back and forth between
the two older boys, looking for signs of betrayal.  "I don't know," he
grudgingly admitted, water streaming down the furrow between his eyes.

"There now," Silas slapped his small shoulder.  "You're awright.  I would
have gone in after you if I needed."

"You did haul me out," Possum allowed.  His eyes finally landed on Egg and
stayed there.  "What's wrong with you?" he demanded.

Egg realized his mouth was still open and he snapped it shut then shrugged
non-commitally, still incapable of speech.  His lips tingled, his stomach
squirmed, and his brain flatly refused to function.

Even as they hauled the boat out of the water a bit later, Egg wasn't much
help.  His legs had gone all wobbly.

"Been sitting too long," he managed to mutter to Possum.

"Waste of a mornin," Possum groused, still angry.  "We didn't catch one
dad-blamed fish."

"Wasn't so bad," Silas offered, "I got what I came for."  He led the way
from the pond, whistling tunelessly.

Possum glared a silent question to Egg, but Egg just shrugged and then fell
in to follow Silas.  Possum's squelching footsteps finally joined them.

The homily at the revival meeting that night was the exhortation to become
fishers of men.  The irony was not lost on Egg, but the coincidence
solidified his resolve to do what he was planning to do anyway.  The plan
was to get Silas alone the next day and now he felt he had a sign that God
was on his side, and that never hurt.  Unless you were a martyr,
reconsidered Egg, and then it hurt a whole lot.

He dreamed that night of an overweight mermaid who called him down into the
water where she gave him cold, anchovy-tasting kisses.  He tried to pull
away from her, but she held him fast, kissing him gently while he slowly
drowned.  He thrashed uselessly in her icy grasp until his lungs finally
couldn't wait any longer.  His mouth gaped open, instinctively gulping for
oxygen, but only succeeding in sucking in lungfuls of foul, green water.

He awoke in a terrible mood, bone-weary of wrestling mermaids and
metaphors, as well as tired of being led around by the leash of hormones
that seemed tightened around his neck.  He breathed deeply, letting the air
expand his chest slowly, loosening the anxiety within him.  His bones,
testicles and soul ached to varying degrees; it was hard to say which the
greater torment was this morning.

He sniffed his armpits and decided a shower wouldn't be detrimental to his
day's goals, so he slouched and stumbled his way to the sole bathroom.  The
steam filled the small room, clouds roiling against the mirror over the
sink.  Egg kept his mind carefully blank, concentrating only on soaping and
rinsing.  The warmth and water were confusing to him, a confounding sensory
deprivation where he couldn't quite tell if the burning in his eyes could
be blamed on shampoo and if the vague taste like salty tears came only from
hard water.  While toweling, he noticed his Pop's prized watch lying on the
sink, the display dark with technological secrets and beaded with moisture
from the damp bathroom air.  He picked it up before he could consider the
theft and strapped it on his wrist, wrestling briefly with the unpracticed
movements.  Too poor to buy a music tape?  This would impress Silas,
surely.  He tried not to think of his pop's disapproval as he ran a comb
through his unruly, wet hair, glad he couldn't meet his own guilty eyes in
the fogged mirror.

When he finally shouldered through the front door, he found Possum already
waiting for him, sitting in the newly mown grass and studying some ants.
The bruises around his eyes were lightening from midnight purple to
jaundiced yellow.  He grinned lopsidedly at Egg as the older boy approached
him, showing off the recent gap made in his smile.

"How come you waited out here, Possum?  Mamma woulda made you breakfast."

Possum just shrugged and glanced away, but Egg immediately knew the boy
didn't want his folks to see his face all battered.  They'd ask all kinds
of questions, and Possum was not a good liar.

"You'll never guess, Egg.  I caught that thieving critter; it came back for
more mash.  You wanna come over and..."

The restlessness within Egg suddenly punched out, quick and ruthless.  "I
can't spend time with you today, Possum.  I have plans for today."  He
didn't meet the other boy's eyes.

"Won't take long, Egg, we'll just..."

But Egg was already jogging toward the path and threw a quick unaimed wave
over his shoulder, "I'm already late.  But I'll see you tomorrow, Possum;
we'll take care of your critter then!"

He let the trees swallow him before he increased his speed, trying to
ensure the younger boy couldn't follow, yet not wanting his uncoordinated
feet to send him sprawling.  In a few minutes he slowed the pace to ease
the stitch in his side which he suspected might have been just a cramp of
guilt.

The door on the Coldwater's tour bus was partially ajar, and Egg knocked on
it awkwardly.

"Anyone home?" He called.

"Nobody's home, cuz we're all here in this stupid bus," replied a girl's
voice.  After a bit of scraping, the door opened more fully and the
Coldwater's youngest daughter stared out at Egg.

He couldn't quite remember her name.  She played the tambourine and sang
backup vocals. He always just thought of her as Tracy from the Partridge
Family, which he'd seen on a friend's TV a few times.

"Hey, good morning," Silas said, squeezing easily past his sister and
joining Egg in the late morning air.  His half-smirk was in place and he
looked Egg up and down.  "Just ignore her.  She's tired of being on the
road.  You need me for something?"

"Naw, just wondered if you wanna hang out today.  I figured to go swimming
for a start."

"Awright."  It was as easy as that.

Egg threw a small wave at Silas' sister, but she just closed the bus door
in response.

"Do you have a little sister?" Silas asked him as they began to saunter
toward the trees.

"Naw.  It's just me."

"God has been good to you, Egg," Sy said somberly.

"I can't imagine having a houseful of people to blame things on."

"That's because it's not like that.  It's more like a houseful of people
who try to blame you for things they done."

"But more people to share all the chores."

"More chores because of all the people."

They turned and grinned at each other.  Egg's face hurt from the breadth of
his smile.

"Is this a private swimmin' hole?" Silas asked lightly.

"Naw.  Everybody goes there.  Well, the guys anyway.  The girls go there
too, but they stay in the bushes to watch and we all pretend we don't know
they're there."

"Oh."

"But I figured after we've swum for a while I could show you some
caves... they're all through the cliffs."

"Caves?  Really?"

"Yeah.  Everybody knows about them, but nobody goes in them.  Hellbenders."

"Um.  What?"

"Hellbenders.  Ozark Hellbenders.  Lizards."

"Lizards?"

"Uh huh.  They're about as long as my arm.  Only come out at night though,
and they're scared of people.  Everyone stays out of the caves cuz of the
lizards, but I go in 'em all the time and the Hellbenders won't hurt
you. Everyone thinks they're poisonous, but they're not.  My pop said so,
and he got bit when he was a kid."

"Nobody else goes in there?"  Silas confirmed softly.

"Nope.  Hellbenders."

Sy met his eye steadily.  "I think I'd like to see them caves when we're
done swimming."

"Yeah, me too."

There were only a few boys already at the swimming hole, and they shouted a
loud greeting to the newcomers.  Egg and Silas shed their clothes on the
rocks which were already warm in the early sun.

"That's a very cool watch."

"Yeah?  It don't need winding.  You just press this button to see the time.
Even in the dark."

"Looks like something that'd be in that Star Wars movie they're making.  I
wanna see that when it comes out."

"Pop don't let us go to movies," Egg said heavily.  He dropped the last of
his clothes at his feet, then tucked the watch under the pile to keep it
dry.

Silas glanced over at his naked new friend and grinned broadly.  "I think I
wanna see those caves pretty soon."

"Yeah, me too," Egg took a quick look beside him, caught a firm impression
of smooth skin and round muscle, and then he jumped into the cool water
before his body could betray them both.  With a resounding whoop, Silas
joined him, showering the rocks with his entrance.

"Well, why'd we bother taking off our clothes if you were just gonna soak
'em?"  Egg wondered aloud when Silas finally surfaced.

Silas glanced around to see if the other boys were listening, and decided
upon just a grin as an answer.  Then he dived deep and began an hours-long
game of sliding fast and wet against Egg in a strange game of tag where the
object seemed to be to tag the other person using any part of the body
except hands.  The rules seemed to allow plenty of dunking and diving and
shouting and sputtering.  And wanting. God Almighty, Egg had never felt
such wanting.

He'd only expected they'd swim for an hour or two, so it was a surprise to
Egg when the other boys all started to disappear for lunchtime.  Silas had
just finished a mock baptism of them all, and when the hollering and
laughter had died, the boys slowly evaporated leaving Egg looking at Silas.
The sun had raised a constellation of freckles across the older boy's
chest, a map to the destination Egg wished to travel.

"You hungry?"

"Only if you have lunch stashed in those caves."

Egg scowled.  "I didn't think of that.  Sorry."

"Then I ain't hungry."

Egg nodded.  "I think I'd throw up if I ate anything."

"You need to practice your pick-up lines a bit.  C'mon, then.  Lead on, oh
kinky turtle."

That garnered a puzzled frown.

"The hymn: Lead On, Oh King Eternal.  When I was a kid, I thought the
lyrics were a little different."

Egg snorted and felt his stomach unclench a bit.  "Gotcha.  Personally, I
was always wondering who Round John Virgin was."

The boys were cool from their water play, but the air was heavy with
afternoon heat and shimmered with the chittering of the insects that
relished the sweltering temperatures.  It weighed upon them like a stifling
blanket.  They stood looking at one another, feeling the sharp tension like
a spur that suddenly kicked them into simultaneous motion.

"We gotta grab our shoes," Egg told him.  "The caves are rocky."

They retrieved all of their clothes, but only donned their shoes and Egg
strapped on his pop's watch.  Then they made their way carefully around the
rocky walls for about a half hour until Egg spotted the opening he was
searching for.

He'd always thought it looked like the den of a coyote rather than an
opening a man could walk right into.  He was a bit worried that Silas'
larger frame might find the first few turns a very tight squeeze.  In fact,
he kept watching behind him as his friend followed him trustingly, and
Silas did have to put himself through a few uncomfortable contortions that
pressed his warm skin against the cool rocks.  But he twisted himself
through the limestone gauntlet, following Egg closely until he could stand
upright in the dim, rocky cavern.

"Wow," Silas breathed in awe, as his eyes adjusted to murky light.

"Yeah."

"This is really..."

"Yeah."

The air was much cooler here, and smelled of earth and minerals, sweat and
nervousness.  Deeper in the interior there were stalactite straws and
glistening curtains of calcium, but here in the first chamber there was
only a giant open space with a ceiling that vaulted overhead and
disappeared into the shadows.  The stone walls loomed in the distance,
giving the impression that they had entered a massive cathedral; ancient,
sleepy, and sacred.  The floor was somewhat soft with grey powdered silica,
but with chunks of rocky debris scattered liberally around.  Slithery
tracks provided evidence of the lizards, but none could be seen.

Egg watched his own hand reach toward Silas as if it belonged to someone
else.  It hovered in midair with only a brief tremor to betray him before
Silas grasped it in his own warm hand and pulled him closer.

"I'd have drowned him if you'd brought him today," Silas half-growled
softly, as if they'd just been discussing the subject.

"I think you tried that already."

And then Egg was being kissed and he forgot about Possum completely.  He
forgot about summer chores and demanding fathers, English lessons and pesky
friends.  In fact, he almost forgot to breathe.  His whole world was only
slick tongues, warm lips, sweat-slippery skin and pounding need.  His blood
beat a tempo in his ears and his taut body rocked to the pummeling rhythm,
chest rubbing against chest and hip frantically seeking friction against
hip until he could taste a bit of that blood, tangy and coppery in his
mouth from the frantic bites.  He felt he was being devoured, and he wanted
more.  He groaned incomprehensible things, his skin, bone and sinew
igniting in a crucible where he burned bright and pure, at some point
melting to the sand when his legs could no longer support him.

The cave floor was cool against his stomach, but Silas was urgent and warm
against his back.  With a searing, torturous pain, Silas entered him, the
hurt bad enough to kill a childhood.  Egg squeezed his eyes shut against
the brutal, terrifying, perfect agony and choked on his sob.  From where
his teeth clamped down on his own forearm, a thin trickle of blood and
saliva seeped an outline around his pop's watch like a crimson shadow.  He
trembled so hard he thought he'd shake himself apart.

***

Recurrence substituted for duration, and they did not emerge from the cave
for many hours, finally driven out by the fact they hadn't eaten since
early morning.  It was now clearly evening, and as they made their way over
the rocks toward the forest path, Egg finally pressed the button on his
pop's watch to check the time.

"We're in trouble, Sy," he croaked.  His throat burned, rough and raw in a
way that made him flush to remember.

"What?"

"It's almost seven.  Revival will be starting soon.  We're gonna be late."

Silas took the news badly, hissing through clenched teeth as he picked up
his pace.  "They're gonna kill me when I'm not there to sing with them.  I
don't even have time to change my clothes.  And I'm starving.  I don't know
what I was thinking."

They were dressed, at least, but wearing their shorts and t-shirts from the
day and those looked exactly like they'd been stretched out on a cave floor
and then rolled around on.  As they jogged along the path, Egg detoured
into the surrounding woods to bring Silas back a fallen, ripe pawpaw.

Sy took it gratefully.  He looked like he still wanted to be angry, but a
shy grin escaped him as he peeled back the thick skin and ate the soft
flesh within.  Egg devoured the one he kept for himself, and they both spit
the large back seeds along the way.  They were going to be late and dirty,
there was no way to avoid it, and the knowledge actually seemed to settle
Sy.  They paused from their run for a long moment.

"Thank you," Silas said quietly.

"Just a fruit."

"I didn't mean for the pawpaw, Egg."

"I wasn't talkin' about the pawpaw neither."

There was a short, shocked silence and then Silas howled with laughter.  He
slung his arm over Egg's shoulder and they walked companionably toward
their doom.

When they emerged at the lot behind the DQ, they were stunned into
paralysis.  The boys stood gaping around the area, eyes wide and mouths
open.  There wasn't a soul anywhere around.  The top of the large canvas
tent was flapping like a giant bird, but otherwise the grounds were still
and silent.  Egg checked his pop's watch once more and frowned at it.

"It says it's twenty after seven.  Maybe it's wrong."

Silas looked up and studied the sky a moment.  "It's not wrong."

Egg pushed forward and looked inside the tent, just to be sure.  "Empty,"
he called to Silas, who had jogged over to the bus and pushed the door
open.  He emerged in a moment, shaking his head.

"Maybe they all decided to meet somewhere else?"

"No note on the tent.  They woulda left a note for stragglers.  And our
instruments are still in the bus.  Wherever everybody's at, they're not
having a revival meeting."

"Aliens?"

"Obviously."  Silas' fleeting smile turned into a scowl as he looked around
again.  "I don't like it, Egg.  I've never known Daddy to cancel a revival
meeting."

"There's not a single person who accidentally showed up."

They looked at each other as apprehension began to grow.  "Let's go to my
house and see if anyone's there.  My Aunt Beauty don't go to revival
meetings.  She might know where everyone's got to."

Silas nodded and followed as Egg again pushed himself into a jog.

Dusk was falling, but at this time of year it took its time about it.
Twilight shadows slowly lengthened as the boys ran through the forest, and
the sudden call of a bobwhite quail whistled uncertainly in the air.
Everything suddenly had a surreal quality about it, and Egg slowed briefly,
wondering if he were dreaming.  But the soreness within him was convincing
that he had really done the things he remembered doing, and he could tell
his body would ache with that remembrance for a long while.  He was glad
about that.

"Awright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Egg replied, picking up the pace once more.

They emerged into Egg's yard to find complete chaos.  It looked like the
entire town had shown up, and was milling about, inside and outside the
home.  As the boys slowly walked toward the house, they were spotted by a
little girl.

"Egg!"

Heads snapped up from all around the yard, and a murmur started as people
caught a glimpse of him and started moving quickly in his direction.  Egg's
eyes opened wide and he took a step back.  Did they know what he'd done?
How did they all find out?

Mrs. Shiner was the first to reach him, and almost suffocated him in a hug.
"Get his mamma!"  She cried.  "Tell her now!"

The rest of the crowd was suddenly upon him, everyone touching him, some
shyly and some with a rough thwap on his shoulder.  They were like a wave
that swept him away from Silas, and Egg's last look of his friend showed
the boy with a bewildered and lost look upon his face.

A sudden commotion revealed Mamma running across the lawn as quickly as she
could, yelling his name repeatedly.  The crowd fell back a pace as she
threw herself at him and sobbed into his shoulder.  He held her tightly,
more scared than he'd ever been in his life.

"Mamma?"

She couldn't speak, her body wracked with her crying.  Egg looked through
the cloud of her hair to find his pop standing silently behind her, unshed
tears glowing in his eyes.

"You all right, son?"

"Yessir."

"He didn't touch you?"  His voice was steely, angry.

Egg stopped breathing and looked around slowly for Silas, not seeing him
anywhere.  "Who, Pop?"  He finally managed to ask, his voice ragged.

"Charles McCain."  Pop's voice trembled just a bit as he spoke Possum's
daddy's name.

The people on the lawn were very still as Egg fought his confusion,
awaiting his response.

"No, Pop.  Charles Senior didn't touch me.  I been hanging out with Silas
today, swimming and caving.  I'm sorry we're late."

The tear finally escaped his pop's eye and tracked slowly down his cheek.
Egg was astonished.

"Son...  Possum's gone."  He swallowed slowly and more tears streaked his
face.  "His daddy beat him until he... well, Possum died, son.  We all
thought you were with him.  We all thought maybe he'd got to you, too."

His pop was crying openly now, and Egg watched in wonder as the face he
thought he knew so well was transformed before him.

It was all so confusing.  Possum wasn't dead.

"He can't be dead, Pop.  I saw him just this morning."  Egg released the
tight hold he had on his mamma, but she didn't step away.  That was
probably a good thing, because he was feeling a little wobbly.  But he had
to make sure they understood that Possum was okay.  He was probably hiding
out in the woods somewhere.  He did that sometimes when his daddy was
drunk.

"Sheriff thinks it happened around lunchtime, Egbert.  I'm sorry."

There seemed like a hundred people around the yard, stone silent and
looking at Egg.

"But I don't think he coulda..."

"The Sheriff has the body, son.  He's really gone.  All these folks came
out to look for you this afternoon.  We searched the forest for you, afraid
that he..."  Pop trembled to a stop and looked away toward nothing.

Aunt Beauty shuffled through the crowd and wrapped Egg in another hug.  She
smelled of bread and body odor and she spoke several things in his ear that
he couldn't hear over the buzzing white static in his head.  The crowd
started moving slowly around him, approaching Pop and shaking his hand,
touching Egg's shoulder briefly and saying words he didn't comprehend.  Why
were they leaving?  Who would look for Possum?

The static became louder, growing from a whispered question to a droning
cacophony until it drowned out everything and covered it in whiteness.

***

Egg was on the dirt path to Possum's house again, scuffing his feet like
always.  He'd spent the prior day in his room, slowly absorbing information
from the mutterings of his parents.  Charles Sr. was in jail over in
St. Joe's, and Possum's mom was in the hospital across the street from the
jail, with a broken arm, cracked ribs, and internal bleeding.  They said
she just stared at the ceiling and wouldn't talk.  Nobody seemed to know
what to do about a funeral with both of his folks unable to attend.

The blankness inside Egg was still there, acting as a buffer to anything
that tried to touch him.  It was like he somehow had used up all his
feelings and no matter how deeply he dug, there was just nothing down
inside him.  He aimed a kick at a stone and didn't bother to watch where it
went.

He came upon Possum's ramshackle house and hardly glanced at it, walking
past it and the fluttering plastic streamers of yellow crime tape to get to
the shed.  When he pulled open the door the strong, sour smell of the mash
attacked him, making his eyes water.  And there, in the corner, in a small
cage- trap was the furry mash thief.  It was curled up, dead already; it
had probably died from thirst in the hot oven of the shed.  Rather than the
raccoon they had suspected, it was a small, grey opossum.  Its face was
pale and long, it's tiny feet clawed and delicate.  Egg picked up the cage
carefully and carried the corpse outside, setting it under a tree.  Then he
picked up a stray two-by-four, about four feet long, and returned to the
shed, holding it like a baseball bat.

He stood in the doorway, trembling.  The whiteness inside him was rising
again, this time a hot fury that roared in his ears and streamed down his
face, salty and wet.  He yelled himself hoarse as he lay about him with his
weapon, smashing the still and everything inside it.  He pummeled the mash
barrel into a splintery mess of wood and corn juice, broke the shed window
in an explosion of glass and fury, and beat the walls until the nails came
loose and the boards gaped widely in a smile like his friend's.  He didn't
stop until his arms were too weak to lift his piece of wood again, and he
slumped in the floor among the spilled mash, too exhausted to care about
his bleeding hands, full of splinters.

An unexpected breeze found him there, carrying away the stench of the
place, and promising him that summer was almost over.  Except for the
breeze, the morning air was completely quiet, his violence having left a
scar of silence, white and jagged, across everything in the area.  He
roused himself, grasped the handle of the cage in his blood-slick fingers,
and headed home.

His pop found him in their backyard digging a hole.  There was an empty
wire cage-trap set next to the tree where Egg was digging, and there was a
small bundle wrapped in old cleaning rags - prepared for burial - lying
next to it.  Egg, fully concentrating on his task of digging, was surprised
when his pop appeared next to him with a shovel of his own.  Neither said a
word as Pop started digging, helping to widen the hole while Egg made it
deeper.

"I took your watch the other day without asking," Egg told him suddenly.
"I found it in the bathroom and I wore it so Sy Coldwater wouldn't think I
was poor."

His pop studied him with an undecipherable look in his eye.  Egg held his
gaze steadily.

"Okay, son."  He bent back to his task and lifted another shovelful of dark
soil.

The grave didn't need to be very big, so working together they were done in
just a few minutes.  Pop reached for Egg's shovel and stood solemnly beside
the hole while Egg bent to lift the wrapped bundle from the ground.

But the rags fell away to show that they held nothing.  He looked around in
confusion until his pop pointed his finger across the yard where the possum
was scurrying quickly toward the forest.  The small grey body raced blindly
for freedom, dragging its bare, pink tail behind it in the grass.  The
possum turned just once at the edge of the yard, its eyes glinting like
obsidian beads, and then was gone.  Egg stood and watched the empty spot
for a long time while his father wordlessly refilled the hole in their
lawn.

At some point in the early afternoon Egg found himself back at the DQ lot
to help take down the revival tent and say his farewells to the Coldwaters,
but once again discovered that he was out of sync with his surroundings.
He found that the tent was already gone from the grounds, and so was the
converted school bus.  The softball field showed the outlines of the giant
tent with a flattened, yellowed square.  It looked forlorn and dying, unfit
for games or fun.

But the space was not empty.  A table had been erected and a large sign
taped to the front proclaimed: "Bride Stone Company.  Applications.  Use
Ink."

Egg watched the line of men as they waited their turn at the table.  They
stood speaking quietly to one another, somehow managing to look both
pensive and animated, as if they lived in a different world from Egg.  He
saw the air as a white, hazy curtain, separating him from the drama on the
stage.  He was only a member of the audience, watching the action from the
bitter darkness of his seat.

Mrs. McKay was pouring lemonades for the men in line until she caught sight
of Egg.  She straightened herself and brushed a hand down her skirt,
grabbing something from her purse before she walked to where he stood.

"Hello, Egbert," she said softly.  "How are you?"

Egg looked at her, somewhat surprised that she could see him.  He regarded
her mutely for a few moments until she glanced away uncomfortably.

"That oldest Coldwater boy?  He asked me to give you this."  She pressed a
small brick of plastic into his hand.  He watched her retreat to the
lemonade thermos before he glanced down at the Coldwater Christmas 8-track
tape.  It was still wrapped in cellophane, shiny and foreign, feeling like
Silas' skin - smooth and slick - under his fingers.

Egg looked up to the sky, the blue mostly overtaken by the white glare of
the sun.  It was a summer sky, hot and open and filled with the thrumming
of insects.  He only realized his hands had tightened into fists when he
heard the crackle of the cellophane, whispering something he couldn't
understand.



*I enjoy hearing from people who are reading my stories.  Feedback is
always appreciated.  If my style of writing appeals to you, you can find
other stories of mine on Nifty.  The stories below are more traditional
Nifty stories which include graphic depictions of sex:

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/brother-mine-series/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/encounters/single-malt

seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net