Date: Sun, 3 Jan 2016 09:17:17 -0500
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT FORTY of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT FORTY of THE FATHER CONTRACT
Please consider a donation to Nifty to keep this wonderful story of PJ
going!
Chapter Seventy-Five: Perplexities

On Saturday, the World Series began. And by that time, PJ's leg and hip
were feeling a lot better.

His morning swim practices had helped. When he awoke Friday morning after
the Foxton game, he'd been so stiff and sore he'd not been at all sure that
he could even get out of bed. But after two hours of work in the pool, he'd
almost felt normal again.

He'd had a whirlpool session at the end of Friday's football practice. On
Saturday morning, he'd had another while Erik went to watch Brian and
Phil's scrimmage game. By the afternoon, when they went to Billy's house,
he was able to do all their drills on the special plays without too much
trouble. They carried out a particularly long session, spending extra time
on the passing plays, with Erik and Phil doing most of the throwing. "I can
see why Phil's team won your scrimmage again," PJ remarked as they sat
together on the back porch eating cookies. "He's getting deadly in his
passing."

"Yeah," Brian said happily. "It's too bad you missed it today, PJ. We did
one long pass play that blew the other side off the field. It was so
neat. The defense can't get used to Phil being left-handed. They always get
scrambled up when he rolls out the wrong way."

Erik chuckled. "Wait 'til we spring him in a game. An' wait 'til we work on
his pitching this winter. I still haven't told Coach Lewis that he can
pitch. He's gonna flip when he finds out."

PJ glanced at Phil. The boy's face was red with embarrassment, although he
was smiling proudly. To change the subject for him, PJ said, "Hey, the
Series starts tonight, and it's not a school night. We can stay up and
watch the whole thing."

"Yeah, that's right." Erik looked up happily. "This'll be great. We'll make
popcorn. PJ, did you e-mail Jack an' wish him good luck?"

"Yup. I sent him a note yesterday."

Brian and Phil became all ears. "Man, I hope they do good tonight," Phil
said. He held up crossed fingers for luck, while Brian added, "I hope Jack
belts one out of the park! The Sox have just gotta win the Series!"

"I wish I could watch the game with you guys," Billy wistfully interjected.
The four Gordonsville boys looked at each other. "Why couldn't he?" Brian
asked.

"Let's do it!" Erik exclaimed. He jumped to his feet and led the way up the
steps to the kitchen.

"Do what, PJ?" Billy asked excitedly. "What are we doing?"

PJ smiled at him. "How would you like to spend the night with us at the
School? You can watch the game with us, eat popcorn, have fun, stay up
late, and then be with us tomorrow, too."  "Oh, yeah!" Billy
shouted. "Awesome!  Yes, please, PJ. Do you mean it?

PJ grinned and smacked his shoulder. "We'll ask your mom."

Billy dashed in front of him into the house where Erik was already
explaining the plan to Mrs. Thatcher. When the boy exploded into the
kitchen, he started talking non-stop. "Mom, please let me. Please. It's
just for one night. I'll be with PJ and Erik the whole time. We won't stay
up real, real late. And I'll do everything they tell me to. Please
mom. Please can I go?"

PJ had entered the kitchen right behind Billy and offered her
reassurance. "We'll take care of him. It'll be a lot of fun for all of us."

Billy's mother smiled at the boys. "I guess it will be all right as long as
he's with you. But I think you should check it with your housemaster,
Mr. Williamson, first."

Erik nodded. "We will. I'm pretty sure he'll say it's OK. But he'll
probably call you."

"I'll be here," she said. "You boys have a good time."

"We'll bring him back tomorrow afternoon," PJ promised.

The Top Floor Gang, accompanied by their delighted mascot, headed for the
School, all of them taking turns on Erik's, PJ's, and Billy's
skateboards. To avoid patrolling proctors, Erik led them around the back
way, down the county road to where they could scramble over the boundary
fence onto what Brian called "PJ's secret path." They emerged from the
woods onto the crest of the Hill and walked toward campus by way of the
athletic fields, with Billy, thrilled by the adventure of it all, happily
trotting along next to his adored "Big Brothers," now and then grabbing on
to PJ's arm, and in return, getting a hug around the shoulders.

PJ loved seeing Billy this happy. It made him feel good to do nice things
for his "Little Brother," and in certain ways, he found comfort in knowing
that Billy had a mom and dad who loved him. In PJ's opinion, that was how
it should be, and since Billy's life was turning out so well, he wanted to
believe something like that could also turn up for him. PJ could remember
all too vividly what his own situation had been three years before, when he
was Billy's age. He'd been attending the Country Day School then, one of
the Institutes' "special" students, a label that had earned him a bunch of
hazing until he dealt with it by administering one or two discreet
ass-kickings. In the rec leagues of South Chicago he had, in addition to
sports, learned other life-skills taught by the streetwise boys he'd
competed against. It had been a crucible where he'd learned to fight and
stand up for himself--an entire side of him he'd kept hidden from the very
different breed of boys he mixed with at Gordonsville.

At that time he'd still been seeing that old gray-haired lady twice a week
for hourly sessions in the gray room, with all the toys, and her
never-ending questions . . . "What are you feeling now?" . . . "What are
you feeling?"

Nothing, PJ had always wanted to answer. I want to feel nothing. I'm tired
of feeling. But, of course, he'd never said that. The old lady didn't like
that sort of answer. Now, shuffling through drifts of fallen leaves,
following behind Erik and his other friends, he tried to push away all
those memories. He didn't want to think about Chicago.

"PJ?" Billy was looking up at him, all starry-eyed and excited. "Is Jack
gonna hit a big home run tonight, you think?"

Erik turned around to answer before PJ could collect his thoughts. "'Course
he will!"

"Jack's on a roll!" Phil confidently added, and Brian asked, "What's he say
in his e-mails, PJ? Does he say he'll hit one for you?"

Concealing the little flutter of panic that any mention of Jack's name had
recently been giving him, PJ forced a smile and said, "Naw, Jack never
tells me stuff like that. He just says the Red Sox are excited about being
in the Series. An' he's gonna do his very best. An' all the guys are gonna
play like a team."

"Teamwork!" Erik exclaimed. "Just like us in football."

"Uh-huh. That's what he says is most important."

"Geez! I mean like--this is just so cool!" Phil was shaking his head as if
he still could not quite believe it. "I mean like--the Sox, in the Series!
It's been like forever!"

"Not since 1986," PJ told him. "An' they didn't win then."

"When did they last win?" Erik asked.

The boys had just passed the big Upper-School baseball field. PJ looked
back over his shoulder at the full-sized diamond, remembering how the
previous spring, he'd stood on the pitcher's mound at Fenway Park, staring
at the World Championship flags painted on the grandstand.

"1918," he answered softly. And in his mind's eye he was seeing the
magnificent old park as it must have been then and would be once more this
very night! Draped in patriotic red, white, and blue bunting; the huge
green wall looming in left field; every seat and standing-room space filled
with the Red Sox faithful . . .

The World Series, after all this time, returns to Fenway Park!

"C'mon, PJ. Stop daydreaming," Erik said, pulling him along. "Let's find
Mr. Williamson an' get permission for Billy to stay over!"

* * *

The whole rest of the way to the House, while the others talked of the
upcoming game, PJ remained lost in thought. Fenway Park . . . The Series
. . . Jack would be there. An' I could be too. That was the secret he'd
been hoarding for the past few days. He could be there because he had
tickets!

The tickets had been waiting for him when he'd returned late Thursday
evening from the Foxton game. Coming into the House, He's spotted a fat
envelope addressed to him, sitting on the hall able. Right away he'd
recognized the thick, creamy stationery used by his New York
lawyers. Inside the envelope, when he'd opened it in private, he'd found a
stack of colorful pasteboard tickets: four seats at each of the four Series
games scheduled at Fenway. The Sox had a good chance of winning the first
two since they had home field advantage. Game Six and Game Seven, however,
would only be played if Jack's team couldn't win the Series outright in
Atlanta--and they had three chances, Games Three, Four, and Five, to
accomplish that in.

Right off the bat, PJ had mixed feelings. As much as he wanted Jack and the
Red Sox to win both at home and away, he also hoped that the Sox would win
the Series at Fenway, even if they had to lose three games for that to
happen.

Wrapped around the tickets was a neatly-typed note on a memo form with
"Mr. Walter Harris, Attorney at Law," printed across the top:

"PJ --These were sent to me to forward to you by someone in the Red Sox
front office.  I'm not sure why.  Are you and Jack planning something
special?  I know you are busy in school right now and with your football so
I have been assuming you had no plans regarding the World Series games, but
if I need to arrange something, let me know.  Unless you have an objection,
we will be using the owner's box at Fenway to do some business-related
entertaining, which will be in your interest.  I'm sure you will want to
give these other seats to friends.  Please continue to do well in your
classes and good luck with your sports.

 Walter."

Nevertheless and despite Walter's suggestion, PJ had put the tickets away
in a drawer without showing them to anyone. If his friends saw them, for
sure they would clamor to be taken to a game, and in no way could he allow
that! They would want to meet Jack, and for certain would ask questions PJ
didn't want to answer. That must not happen. But knowing that he possessed
those tickets raised all sorts of other perplexities.

Perplexity. A word from Mr. Bingham's vocabulary drills. PJ liked the sound
of it, and lately had caught himself chanting under his breath, "Perplex,
perplex, perplex . . . I can't go to the bank . . . when my fortune slip is
blank . . ."

What would the old lady make of that? he would wonder. Then, coming to with
a start, he would cautiously glance around. If they catch you talking to
yourself, they'll send you back to her! No way did he want that!

But it was a perplexity. What was he going to do? The Father-Son Dinner
. . . Jack just had to come for Homecoming. He promised! Now everyone
expected him. There had to be some way to let him know how desperately
important it was. He's not answering, though! He's not answering!

PJ had sent that short e-mail Thursday night telling Jack about the Foxton
game, reminding him about the Dinner. And wishing him good luck in the
Series--yet he hadn't answered it. What if Jack never answers? What then?

A plan. I need a plan. And yet here was another perplexity, because PJ did
have a plan. Walter had sent him those tickets. But had Jack been the one
behind this? Was Jack expecting him to come to Fenway? Was this another
test?

He knew what he had to do. He wanted so much to see those games at Fenway,
to see Jack. But he was also afraid.

Four times previously he'd gone to visit Jack. The first, in Florida at
Thanksgiving, that had gone okay. But every other time they hadn't. When I
went to find him in New York . . . he wasn't answering me then either
. . . Erik was with me . . .

Jack had said that he wasn't mad, but he had been. An' Jack had punished
him. It had been at that game, the one at Travis' school. The one he had
trouble remembering--didn't want to remember.

An' the time on Father's Day, PJ thought. Jack hadn't liked that either. He
didn't say so, but you could tell. And then there had been
Chicago. . . . PJ refused to think about Chicago.

But what else was there to do? He had to go find Jack! He just had to!
Somehow he had to muster the courage to do it!

* * *

Thoughts were still churning in PJ's mind when they got to the
House. There, Erik immediately sought out Mr. Williamson to ask if Billy
could stay for the night, and as he had predicted, the first thing the
housemaster did was call Billy's mother and check to see if she had given
her permission. "All right," he told the boys after hanging up the phone,
"but you're responsible for him. Billy, you do what PJ and Erik tell you
to."

The youngster nodded solemnly. "Yes, Sir."

"Can we make popcorn tonight?" Erik asked.

Mr. Williamson rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Absolutely. And we
should make a lot, because I suspect that we'll have a full house in the
Common Room for the game."

The boys cheered. They went upstairs, played the baseball video game until
dinner time, and then raced each other over to the Dining Hall where, with
elaborate deception, they snuck Billy into line. After eating, Brian and
Erik went back to the House to start preparing for the popcorn feast. PJ,
Billy, and Phil went to the Hobby Shop so PJ could show them his progress
on the model Billy had given him. The three of them ended up doing some
work on it and got so interested that Brian had to come over to remind them
it was nearly game time. "Erik said to hurry," he warned. "He's not sure
how long he can hold your seats."

That got their attention! They put the model away and all four raced back
across the Quad to the House. PJ was so excited he didn't even notice that
it was already dark, or the fact that they were going by the Chapel
steps. Erik was reserving places on the sofa for them in the Common Room,
gamely holding off other claimants. "Just in time!" he sang out as they all
crowded in next to him. "See, guys," he told some disappointed fellow
Common-Roomers, "I told you they were on their way."

The evening was a great success, and Billy had a wonderful time. He'd met a
lot of the House boys on previous visits, played touch football with most
of them, and so was recognized and welcomed by almost everyone. He sat
proudly on the sofa between Erik and PJ, bouncing excitedly during all the
good parts of the game and happily stuffing himself with popcorn. In fact,
Billy would probably have had a good time whether the Red Sox won or lost
as long as he could watch the game with the two older boys he admired more
than anything in the world! But, as it turned out, the Red Sox won in a
thrilling victory that went right down to the final inning! Jack hit a home
run in the early going that set the whole Common Room cheering, and the
close finish in the ninth with the Red Sox winning on a suicide squeeze
play sent everyone up to bed at midnight in the highest of spirits!

"I can't possibly go to sleep yet," Phil said as they climbed the last set
of stairs to their rooms. "That game was too awesome to be believed!"

"When was the last time you saw a suicide squeeze in the World Series?" PJ
asked.

"Yeah, and against Atlanta pitching, too!" Erik said. "In the National
League, pitchers bat and the Atlanta pitchers do all kinda tricky stuff. A
squeeze is the kind of stuff they might try. And it still caught them by
surprise!"

"Atlanta might be the best team to try it on," Phil pointed out. "They're
pitchers are so good, you know they're always gonna be around the plate. So
you can count on being able to get your bat on the ball for a bunt." Erik
and PJ were impressed by their little brother's baseball smarts.

"We need to play some video games," Brian eagerly suggested.

This met with everyone's approval. Soon they were all engaged in noisy
competition, Billy having a lot of fun surprising Brian and Phil with how
good he was at the baseball game he played all the time at home. But it'd
been a long, active day, and soon sleep came creeping up on the
boys. Eyelids grew heavy and began to drop. Billy yawned, nodding in PJ's
lap. Brian rested his head on Erik's shoulder as his eyes gradually
closed. "Guess we better get to bed," Erik told PJ when he also started to
yawn. He shook Brian gently to rouse him and scoot both him and Phil over
to their own room. The remaining three got undressed and put on their
pajamas--except, that is, for Billy, who'd forgotten to bring any, so PJ
lent him one of the big cotton tee's that Jack had bought for him as a
nightshirt.

Brian and Phil came back after brushing their teeth, shirtless as usual,
and made an announcement. "We're sleeping over here tonight," Phil said,
grinning.

"Yeah," Brian said. "This is an official Top Floor Gang sleepover." He
jumped into Erik's bed and got under the covers. Phil ran to PJ's bed and
did the same.

"Hey, wait a minute." PJ looked at Erik. "That means I have to put up with
two little brothers and you with only one!"

"You're stuck, PJ," Erik said. The boys all laughed. He got in with Brian
and turned out that light. PJ went and tried to find room in his bed,
ending up in the middle with Phil tucked into his back like a spoon and
Billy curled up in front, holding on to him tightly with his head resting
on his chest. PJ slowly stroked the little boy's back until he heard his
breathing become regular and knew that he'd fallen asleep. Behind him, Phil
was pressed in so close that he could feel the boy's slender chest rising
and falling. On his neck was the soft warmth of Phil's breath. PJ's eyes
closed, and he slept deeply. In the night, he dreamed of the darkness. But
for once, it held no terror for him.

	From a huge distance he heard the voice of the nice old lady
saying, "Jack's son is dead."

 A great peace descended on PJ. The darkness around him slowly brightened,
and he saw himself, a pale naked form, lying on the bottom of Jack's pool,
close to the drain, with his hair drifting in the current, his eyes open
and staring. He was surrounded by silence and light. He seemed to be
floating in that light, wrapped in it, caressed by it, drifting
. . .drifting further and further away . . . . Had he died and gone to
heaven?

* * *

In the early morning when PJ woke, Phil was still pressed tightly against
his back with one of his arms around his waist. During the night, the shirt
he'd given Billy had ridden up, and his small, warm, almost-naked body was
cuddled up against PJ's chest, as if he were a puppy seeking the warmth of
its mother. PJ was sweating and so aroused that his hard little member was
throbbing almost painfully. Across the room, Erik and Brian were huddled
together under the covers, sleeping peacefully. Erik's alarm was turned
off. PJ didn't want to get up for fear of waking anybody, but he had to
take a pee badly. He tiptoed out the bedroom, went to the bathroom, came
back in, carefully shut the door, and slipped back into bed. As he was
beginning to slide down once more into sleep, Billy stirred a little and
made a soft noise. PJ put his arm around the little boy's waist and gently
hugged him. Billy cuddled closer and sighed. PJ closed his eyes again.

They all slept late that day, skipping breakfast and Chapel. When they did
get up, it was to play more video games. They didn't even get dressed until
it was time for lunch. After PJ led them through their two-hour weight
workout, they all went to Billy's house to run through a short football
practice. Once Mrs. Thatcher had served them a light snack, the four
Gordonsville boys reluctantly prepared to return to School. But Billy sure
didn't want them to! He and his father accompanied them to the road in
front of his house. "I wish you could stay with me all the time," he told
PJ. "You're just the best big brothers in the world!"

PJ gave Billy a hug around the shoulders, and Erik patted his back. "Don't
forget to come to our game Thursday, Little Brother," he said. "We're gonna
need you there!"

"We'll be there," Mr. Thatcher promised. "I've already talked to your
stepdad about it."

The boys all waved and walked up the road. "This was fun this weekend,"
Brian said. "It was almost like a mini-holiday."

"Billy is really cool for a little kid," Phil said.

"Hey, the weekend's not over yet," Erik reminded them enthusiastically. "We
still have a World Series game to watch tonight."

"Yeah, but we can only see the first few innings," Brian complained.

Erik playfully slapped his shoulders. "Some is better than none."

PJ was quiet. He was trying to decide what to write to Jack about the
Father-Son Dinner, and how to get Walter thinking of ways to fix it so
Billy could attend Gordonsville the following year.

That night, the Common Room was crowded again as everyone watched the Red
Sox jump out into a dominating lead during the early innings of Game
Two. By the time Mr. Williamson chased them to bed, Boston was ahead six to
nothing in the sixth inning. PJ didn't even bother putting on his radio. He
was very tired and went to sleep almost immediately, thinking that if the
Sox won again, Jack would almost certainly be in a good mood, so perhaps he
would pay to an e-mail reminding him about Homecoming and asking if he
would make a speech.

He woke twice that night. Each time he knew that he had been dreaming of
the darkness and had come awake just in time to escape it. The second time,
he woke with his heart pounding and his body sweating. At first, he was
convinced he'd wet the bed and almost arose from under the bed covers in a
panic. The moon was shining in the window and the room was bright with
light. Erik's clock showed that it was just before two in the morning. His
roommate lay motionless in his bed with his face turned away. PJ readjusted
the bedclothes and turned over, attempting to relax. For distraction, he
tried doing math problems in his head, then went through the entire
Gordonsville football playbook, analyzing every assignment. At last he fell
asleep again, but his rest was disturbed by yet another dream.

	He was back in the gray room with the gray-haired lady. But he was
no longer a little kid sitting on the floor pushing a toy around. Instead,
he was older, sitting at a worn table, drawing an airplane.

	"What are you feeling?" the gray lady asked. PJ looked at her. She
was so very old. Older than time. He liked her, but he was frightened of
her, too. She never stopped asking questions. He knew she would keep asking
until he answered.

	"Sometimes I'm sad," he said. "I'm sad when I'm bad, and I'm bad
when I'm sad.  But I'm not always bad and sad."

	"You don't have to do that, PJ," the old lady said.

	"No," PJ told her.

	"You can talk to me now, can't you."

	"Yes." PJ tried to concentrate on his drawing. It was a picture of
the model plane he was building. Perhaps if he made the picture good
enough, he could get into the plane and fly away.

	"What have you learned?" the old lady asked.

	"I can't change what is real by wishing," PJ told her. "I have to
find my own things to do and do them."

	"Very good, PJ. And what will you do?"

	PJ was not sure how to answer. Suddenly he was not sure of
anything. The gray room seemed to elongate and the old lady got farther and
farther away. Her voice came to him faintly. "What will you do?"

	"Jack will help me," PJ said desperately.

	He was in the long gray corridor now, looking at the row of ceiling
lights that disappeared in the distance in front of him.

	"Jack isn't real," came the whispering reply. It echoed down the
concrete walls into PJ's ears. He felt rather than heard the words.

	"He is," PJ insisted. It seemed terribly important that this be
so. He began to check the doors in the corridor, trying each one as he came
to it. If he could only get out he could find Jack. He was sure he could.

	"Jack's coming for me," PJ said frantically. "He loves me. I'm his
son."

	"Jack's son is dead . . . dead . . . dead . . . dead . . ."

	The words echoed in PJ's mind as he struggled with the doors. There
was a loud noise and he woke up.

* * *

It was Erik's alarm. It was time to go to swim practice.

Once he was out of bed, PJ stumbled around while he dressed, feeling as if
he hadn't slept at all. Erik came awake just enough to make sure he'd
gotten up and went right back to sleep. PJ quickly checked the Red Sox
website to verify that Boston had won before he went across the hall to get
Phil and go to the pool.

That afternoon at football practice, the assignments for the Essex Academy
game were posted on the bulletin board. PJ and Erik were to start at
tailback and quarterback! PJ pushed hard in his drills, hoping that if he
made himself really tired, he might sleep better that night. Afterwards,
Coach Lewis called him over. "Good job, PJ. Say, did you have a chance to
ask Jack about that speech yet?"

"Not yet." Another flutter of panic went through PJ, but he suppressed
it. "Jack had games over the weekend. I'll ask him in my message tonight."

"Let me know what he says," the coach told him.

That evening, when he'd finished his classwork, PJ typed his letter to
Jack. He started it by saying how great it was that the Red Sox had won the
first two Series games and congratulated Jack on his good play.  Then he
typed,

		"Please Jack, don't forget about the Homecoming game and
the Father-Son Dinner which will be in two weeks and three days. It is
very, very important that you come.  I have already reserved two tickets so
everything is all set. Coach Lewis asked me if you would give one of your
little speeches. I told him about some of the things you taught me about
sportsmenship and teamwork and finding the courage to play and he said
could you please say some words about those things because they are so
important. I miss you so much, Jack, and I want to see you so please please
come.  All the other kids have someone to bring them to the diner and I
promised Coach Lewis you would come and talk. I know you're still sort of
mad at me so you don't have to talk to me at all when you come and I won't
talk either.  But please, please just come. I will do my very best for you
in the game that day.  I think it will be for the Championship. I know that
you will have fun.  Everyone wants to see you, Bill always asks about
you. And Billy, and Erik and Travis will be there. And my new friends Brian
and Phil.  And Mr. and Mrs.  Williamson always asks about you too. I
promised them all that you would come. Pleese Jack I wont do anything to
make you mad.  I miss you very much. Please come, it is so important. Good
luck in your World Series games. I cheer for you in every one.  I will
always be your friend.  Love PJ."

When he finished, PJ sent the message immediately without a Spell-Check or
even reading it over the way he usually did. Then he sat at his desk for
awhile with his face in his hands. He was very tired. But he was afraid to
go to sleep because of the threat of another nightmare. And he was deeply
perplexed about Homecoming.

While he was sitting there, trying to think of what he could do, something
occurred to him that was so upsetting he nearly lost control of
himself. The e-mail he'd just sent to Jack was very like the letter he'd
sent to his father at just this time the year before! . . .

PJ was momentarily so frightened that he couldn't move. Frantically, he
tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it only seemed to loom
larger, bringing with it all the suppressed longing he'd felt for his
parents, now seemingly multiplied a hundred times over! He began to
shake. Stop it! He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. Stop it!
Stop it! Trying to gather self-control, he got up quietly without
disturbing Erik, who was doing homework at his desk. But it still took all
of his willpower to get to the door without stumbling. He made it out of
the room, but by the time he was in the hallway tears were already running
down his face. Chest heaving with sobs, he ran to the bathroom, stripped
off his clothes, and got into a shower, pulling the curtain across behind
him. When he turned the shower on, the noise of the water covered up the
dreadful sounds he was making. He collapsed to the floor of the stall,
curling into a ball with the spray pouring over him, and abandoned himself
to his fear and grief.

It took some time before the sobbing stopped. When it did, he felt so weak
that he could barely move. He uncurled, rolled onto his back, and allowed
his arms to sprawl outward. There wasn't enough room in the stall for him
to completely stretch out, so he had to pull his knees up. He let them sag
apart and lay absolutely still while hot water cascaded over his entire
body. It felt almost the way it did in his dream, the one where he lay in
the peaceful silence at the bottom of Jack's pool--almost, but not
quite. The streams of hot water gushing from the shower splashed on his
body and ran sensually over the skin like a thousand stroking fingers. He
became aroused and lay under the rush of water drifting through a space
where fears and tears couldn't follow. The streaming needles of water
hissed around him, and in their derisive whispering he heard over and over,
"Jack's son is dead . . . dead . . . dead . . . ."

After a long time, he stirred and slid a palm slowly over his chest and
tummy. Then he caressed his penis, moving his fist faster and faster up his
boner until he came, with squirts of clear semen, just like he'd done with
Phil. It was the only release he'd gotten that day. Finally, he got slowly
to his feet, soaped himself all over, and rinsed off just as slowly. When
he turned off the hot water, the cool air from the bathroom diffused into
the stall, raising goose bumps on his naked flesh and making him wilt and
shrivel. He hadn't brought a towel with him when he made the hurried exit
from his room, so he wiped water from his hard, slender body with his hands
as best he could, and dried himself the rest of the way with his shirt. He
pulled on his pants to cover himself, and, wrapping his other clothes in a
bundle, peeked cautiously out into the hall to be sure it was empty before
running quickly back to the room.

Erik turned to look as he walked in.

"Forgot my towel," PJ explained, spreading his damp shirt out to dry.

His roommate smiled. "I've done that a few times."

PJ changed quickly into his pajamas and hung his pants over the back of his
desk chair. After opening his closet door so he could see his Jack Canon
poster, he went to the bookshelf, got down Kim, slid into bed, and adjusted
his reading light, hoping that the story would divert him from dwelling on
his troubles. But try as hard as he could to concentrate on the book, he
failed. It was the beginning of a very restless night for him.

* * *

On Tuesday, the Red Sox won their third straight game. PJ listened in bed
on his radio as Jack went three for four at the plate and drove in three of
the five Boston runs. It was so late by the time he got to sleep that when
he woke up early Wednesday morning to go to swim practice, he could barely
function. After he told Erik about the game, his roommate sleepily replied,
"The Red Sox are gonna win the Series, PJ. There's no doubt. Atlanta can't
come back after losing three straight. They'd have to win four in a
row. All the Sox gotta do is win one more game."

"I sure hope you're right," PJ said. And yet even as he mouthed the words,
he felt a flutter of panic! Game Three of the Series, the game the Red Sox
had just won, had been played in Atlanta. Game Four would be played there
as well. So would Game Five if it was needed. If the Red Sox won either of
those games, they would win the Series away and Jack would head home from
Atlanta to Florida. Then what? If that happened, PJ wasn't sure if Walter
could even arrange another meeting in Florida for him. Plus he still hadn't
heard a single word from Jack about Homecoming. An' suppose he never did?

But if there was a Game Six or Seven . . .

Those games would be played on Saturday or Sunday at Fenway Park. Jack
would be in Boston . . .  PJ had tickets . . .

That would mean that the Sox had to lose Games Four and Five, which PJ
didn't want to happen, yet somehow, somehow, he had to see Jack! He had to!
An' he had the Fenway tickets which Jack was probably responsible for.

An' what if, all along, he'd known it was going to turn out like this? What
if it really was a test to see if I'd keep on believing? To see if I'd come
to him in the end . . .?

It was a terrible muddle. A perplexity. I need a plan, he kept telling
himself all through Wednesday classes and football practice. I need a plan.

That night, PJ stayed up late, listening to Game Four on his radio and
when, despite a Jack Canon home run, the Red Sox lost, he felt terrible,
even guilty, as if it were his faullt. He wanted the Sox to win the Series,
but in Boston, at Fenway Park, the site of so many of their greatest
triumphs.  And he wanted to be there. He wanted to find Jack so that
somehow, someway, he could make everything right again.

* * *

On Thursday, PJ still had no answer to his e-mail. In English class that
morning, Mr. Bingham gave them a vocabulary quiz and one of the words was
his favorite--perplexities. Experience had taught PJ its meaning. He was
perplexed by his guilt over wanting the Sox to lose in Atlanta so they
would come home to win in Boston. He was perplexed about the tickets. He
couldn't be certain that Jack had arranged for them to be sent to
Walter. He was perplexed about his nightmares getting worse and worse,
perplexed about his loss of self-control and the awful panic he sometimes
felt, and more dreadful yet, not just perplexed but actually terrified at
darker things lurking at the edges of his mind. Only in the grueling drills
of his sports practices did he find distractions from his fears.

That afternoon, on the Junior Varsity field, Gordonsville Middle School was
to play Essex Academy in football. At least that might get things back to
normal.

END OF INSTALLMENT FORTY

Paul K. Scott's e-mail address: paulkdoctor@gmail.com