Page 2 of Summer of the Boy

And stares.

But he stops.

“Come on, come with me.” Thankfully when I reach out gently grabbing his hand, he flinches but doesn’t freak out again.

I should’ve stopped to consider if he’s the kind of autistic who hates to be touched. The thought just hadn’t come to me until I’d already touched him. Anyway, he doesn’t seem to mind. He walks alongside me, not speaking, though no longer crying or hitting himself.

So I’ll call it a win.

We walk to the most secluded spot on the boardwalk, stopping in front of an old automaton the park owners haven’t bothered to remove yet. The only things nearby us, an underutilized restroom and semi-rusted out drinking fountain.

“Lean down,” I order. “I’m going to splash some water on your face. It’ll make you feel a little better.” Again, he doesn’t argue or protest in anyway, lowering his face, I do just as I said and splash two handfuls of water. He cringes and shakes his head. He does not pull away.

Another win.

“All right, we’re done.Here.” Shrugging out of my hoodie, I offer it up for him to dry his face off.

The dude takes it but doesn’t use it at first.

“Is there a problem?”

“Your shirt will get wet,” he answers.

“It’s okay. If I minded, I wouldn’t offer.”

He smiles. This man I’ve socially killed myself for smiles at me and it hits me, I’m staring at the face of probably the most beautiful man-boy I’ve ever seen in my life. Though even as his grin reaches his ears, his hazel eyes never meet my brown ones. Glassy and blank, butnotvacant. His eyes, I can see the intelligence running behind them even if he won’t look directly at me.

Whatever he’s thinking about by not looking at me must come to a head in his mind. Then it’s as if his happiness bubble suddenly pops,poof!His mouth drops to a flat line just that quickly. Face dried, he hands me back the hoodie.

We stand there both silent. Me wondering what’s going through the guy’s head. Does he wonder what’s going through my head? What should I do next?

Screw it. “What was all that about?” I ask.

Silence.

The bell from his strength game dings in the distance. Someone either took over for him, or the park is losing money on an unattended game.

“Okay then. I’m gonna…” I thumb behind me to show him I’m leaving.

“They’re bullies,” he says in a voice too soft to come from the freak-out kid of the carnival. Too soft but filled with just as much sadness.

“Who?” I mean, there was a whole cast of characters standing around gawking for him to refer to. Pick your age, weight or size.

“Baseball.” That’s his answer. Dammit, I know who he’s talking about. I’d seen the prick. I’d graduated with the prick. Hell, I’d played ball with the prick. One drunken night, just before graduation, I’d played with his prick and balls. Back when I wore my hair jock short and pretended to be straight. He still pretends. Or I don’t know. He sure seemed to enjoy our playtime that night. Even though we never spoke again, and he’s here with a girl. Star on the field for State now, he needs to prove his prowess. The ones like him are never the kind to let the high school glory days go.

“Gabe?” I ask. “Gabe Cera?” He nods. “And all his buddies?” My freaking ex-teammates thought they owned the springtime, and even though we’ve been away for a year, think they own the summer too. Stupid lunk-head jocks. Too many roids cloud their overly testosterone-filled minds. I’d once been one of them. Though, I’d never been one of them.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes. It does. It matters. You matter.”What is wrong with you, Leif?You matter?I don’t even know his name, but he needs to know he does. The man is a person just like the rest of us and doesn’t deserve the crap the world throws at him every day.

“He wanted to show off for his girl. I didn’t mean to look, but he’s strong, nice arms. They saw me looking.”

Shit. I could see this playing out. “Did they call you names?” Standing there in his striped golf shorts, yellow polo and Keds, looking like his mother still buys his clothes, looking lost to the world, he shakes his head yes.

“When I turned away, someone swiped my legs.”

“And you fell backwards?” Yes again. “Did you land on the ground?”

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