ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS Chapter Eight "The Halloween Party" The final week of October passed without further incident. I stopped pursuing Ethan and the boy no longer misbehaved. He had made me cry: a distance came between us. The days began to grow shorter, the sunlight less strong as the earth moved into its winter orbit. I focused my energies on teaching. My students responded by studying harder and keeping their distance from Ethan, gossip of our "breakup" racing like wildfire through the academy. Halloween fell on Saturday. My volunteers and I decorated the gymnasium for the party. As the children scampered about, excited and chatty, my depression lifted. I was everywhere at once, helping teenagers move tables and chairs, helping tiny boys carve jack-o-lanterns. I asked Spencer to settup a sound system on a stage and DJ at the party. "Can I sit behind a screen? Or with my back to the kids?" he asked, pulling at his lower lip. I tousled the boy's hair and picked him up for a hug. Shy Spencer yelped, his dangling thighs bumping mine. "No, you may not!" "I don't know if I c-c-can do it, Mr. Wilson," he said, anxiety making him stutter. "Tell you what. You wear a mask to hide your face, O.K.?" The DJ shrugged. "Can you put me down now, sir?" "Only if you promise to perform." The boy nodded and I set him down. He swayed on rubbery legs. I patted his chest and left him standing in the center of the stage, then sent several children to the kitchen to place orders for treats. Dinner was a riotous affair. The boys were more squirrely than ever, and though the staff and I moaned and groaned we were delighted to bring such joy in the boy's lives. Most of the children did not finish their meals but there was no chance of upset tummies. Students ate healthfully -- they were never served soda pop, potato chips, or too many fried foods --and under no circumstances were they ever fed candy. Halloween treats consisted of fruit punches, ice-creams, fruit pies, chocolate milk. They raced to change into their costumes. Even Ethan was caught up in the excitement and it was wonderful to see him smiling once more. The gymnasium had been transformed into a cave of shadows and dark, pulsing green and black lights. The children "oohed" and "aahed" at the decorations. Cotton "spiderwebs" hung from tables and ceiling beams, black construction paper bats and spiders everywhere. There were booths for crystal ball readings, for face painting, and for reaching through drapes to feel "eyeballs" -- peeled grapes -- and "brains" -- raw liver -- that made the children grimace and go "Ew!" Cowboys, Indians, Vampires, Army men, caped super heroes -- these were the majority of costumes, the only limitation being that the boys could not cover their legs. Almost every teenager over 15 wore fake beards or moustaches, fascinated by their approaching manhood. "Listen up, fellas! Grab a partner and go!" Spencer called, his nasal voice echoing over the speakers. He punched a button then spun on his stool as Glenn Miller's brassy "In The Mood" began to play. The shy teen had followed my advice and draped himself in a white bedsheet as a ghost, white short pants and white knee socks framing his peachy thighs as he spun and spun, hands patting rhythm on his chest. The gymnasium floor filled with boys who danced alone, in groups, and in pairs. Rubbery legs were everywhere, doing the Jitterbug. I spotted Eric dressed like a doctor, a silver stethascope hanging from his neck. He walked up to Gerald, who stood against the wall dressed like a scarecrow. The boys regarded each other bashfully, then Eric took Gerald's hand and led him onto the floor. They began to dance, stiffly at first, then with abandon, laughing into each other's faces. "Would you please dance with me?" Ronald stood beside me, tugging my shorts. The black boy was a devil in red satin, holding a plastic pitchfork. His shorts were little more than underwear, and I learned later that Mr. Tomita had helped him with his costume. Ronald had presented. "No," I smiled. "But I'll do this!" I picked Ronald up by wrapping my arms around his legs and chest, and holding him at my waist, ran with him around the gymnasium, the little devil poking his classmates with his pitchfork. As for myself, I was dressed as a clown, a red ball on my nose, my face painted white with a large red smile, triangle black eyes, a red wig of bushy hair, a rainbow colored short pants clown outfit and enormous, floppy red clown shoes. Next to water-filled tubs where children were bobbing for apples, I set Ronald down and patted his bubbly, black boy's bottom through the satiny shorts. Ronald joined his friends to bob for apples. "Good party." "Harrison?" I asked, recognizing the Englishman's voice. He was wrapped head to toe in white bandages as a mummy. "The same," he answered playfully in an eerie voice. "Oh! Someone's here you might want to see." He lifted his arm in slow motion, pointing. I turned. It was Ethan. Dressed as a swashbuckler. In velvet, royal purple with wide purple leather boots and a jaunty swashbuckler's hat topped with an enormous white feather. He set his hands on his hips where a low slung black leather belt held a foil-paper sword. My heart skipped a beat. The child was always, effortlessly lovely, the best-looking and best-dressed student for any occassion. "Do not lose him," Harrison intoned. "God, no," I breathed. Ethan carried himself like a swashbuckler, the long purple coat with the wide, cuffed sleeves swaying with each step. He looked so proud. So unattainable. I wondered how I ever thought myself worthy of him. My clown costume was appropriate. "In The Mood" ended. The boys clapped and began to call out requests. Gerald sat on a chair while Eric walked to the punch bowl. He poured two glasses and gave one to Gerald. Then "doctor" Eric set his left hand on the scarecrow's knee. Gerald started, a drop of liquid dribbling down his chin. Eric wiped the drop away, then fit the stethascope to his ears and set the silver disc over Gerald's heart. The scarecrow's lusciuos, golden thighs bounced wildly, and the doctor moved the cold stethascope over them next, sliding it up and down. The romantic gesture was exquisite. Homosexual or not, Arcadia Arcademy was a safe harbor for hormone-rich adolescent boys, where every detail about their society confirmed the convictions of their emotions. Thus, in a half century of operation, no graduate had ever returned to complain or make hysterical, untrue allegations. I looked at Ethan. He looked at me. The green and red lights pulsed around us. Harrison's arm remained extended, a white bandage hanging from his wrist. "Do not let him go," he intoned. "Oh , stop!" I snapped, irritated. "Well," Spencer announced. "Um, this is hard for me? But it's something I think I have to do. I mean, yes, I need to do this." He stooped for something under the table and portable radio station. A piercing feedback made the DJ grab the microphone, fumble and shake violently. "I-I-I," he stammered, panicking. "Test! Test!" "Go ahead, Spence!" yelled a big boy. The shy ghost sat bolt-upright, staring out from beneath the sheet as the feedback whine died away. "You can't laugh," the DJ said, producing a guitar and setting it on his lap. "If anyone laughs I'll punch him!" declared the big boy in a green Frankenstein costume. He surveyed the gymnasium, then turned back to the stage. "It's all right, Spencer," he said softly. "Don't be afraid." Ghost Spencer stared at the Frankenstein boy, blue eyes peeking through the holes in his hood filled, wondering who was protecting him. Then a calm filled him. "This is a song for two very special people. I owe them this song. I didn't know what else to do because...well, because. I hope they like it. It's called 'He's Always a Schoolboy'." Then, clearing his throat, Spencer began to strum the guitar and sing. He can kill with a smile, he can wound with his eyes. He can ruin your faith with his casual lies. And he only reveals what he wants you to see. He hides like a child but he's always a schoolboy to me. The gift of Spencer's enormous musical talent held the room spellbound. Even the littlest children stopped to listen. Spencer's dextrous fingers moved over the guitar strings in a blur, the DJ's slender figure beginning to weave and grow supple as he was transported. The song's correct title was "She's Always A Woman," but like everything else at Arcadia Academy, the song had been revised and taught as an expression of man-boy relationships. He can lead you to love, he can take you or leave you. He can ask for the truth but he'll never believe you. And he'll bring out the best and the worst you can be. He steals like a thief but he's always a schoolboy to me. Spencer's voice was pure and flawless. I tensed and saw swashbuckler Ethan tense, too. Spencer was singing for us, apologizing to us, offering up a healing act at immeasurable personal effort. Oh! He takes care of himself! He can wait if he wants. He's ahead of his time. Oh! And he never gives out! And he never gives in. He just changes his mind. And he'll promise you more than the garden of eden. Then he'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding. But he'll bring out the best and the worst you can be. Blame it all on yourself but he's always a schoolboy to me. Not every student at the academy was aware of man-boy love, but those who were and who knew of mine and Ethan's troubles studied the two of us with hopeful expressions. I began to shake, and the object of my love, young Ethan Sevatis, stood frozen, retuning my gaze. He is frequently kind, then he's suddenly cruel. He can do as he pleases he nobody's fool. And he can't be convicted, he's earned his degree. And the most he will do is throw shadows at you But he's always a schoolboy to me. Spencer's sweet voiced died away. He sat curled over his guitar, afraid to mmove. "Hooray for Spencer!" yelled the Frankenstein boy. "Hip hip, hooray!" He led the gymnasium in the quaint, outdated cheer. The shy, underdeveloped ghost lifted his head dazedly to a long round of applause. Then he lifted his hands and modestly waved the applause down. It continued. The youth had never truly understood how much he was valued, but his classmates understood how special his performance had been and how it had come at great personal cost. The applause and cheers could not be silenced, and in a fantastic gesture of insight and maturity, the Frankenstein boy bent down to Benji and Patty -- dressed in matching yellow and black striped bumble bee costumes with pipe-cleaner filters on their heads -- whispered to them and sent them onto the stage to congratulate Spencer with hugs. The DJ held them tight, leaned over the microphone to speak but could not. Then he sat Benji and Patty on each of his knees, started another record, and snuggled with the little bumble bee roommates, making them giggle. Ethan and I remained studying each other. Then he nodded and walked to the exit, glancing back of his shoulder. I followed as if in a dream, wading through the almost liquid pools of green and black lights. "God bless," Harrison called. Outside, I found Ethan seated on a trailer piled with hay bales and hooked to an older fashioned John Deere tractor. There were other boys among the hay as well, but they were preoccupied with talk and their treats of marshmallows and fruit. I sat next to Ethan, and the tractor began to roll. The night was a clear dome of thousands of glittering stars, a crescent moon hanging against a black sky. I rest my eyes on Ethan's naked thighs, watching his kneecaps move as his feet swung, the large purple swashbuckler boots swaying above the dark grass. The child's flesh was so immaculate and smooth it glittered with points of starlight. "I'm sorry I made you cry, Mr. Wilson," Ethan said as the tractor headed out onto the playing fields. "I'm sorry I made you cry first. I can't tell you how sorry I am for what I did." Ethan shrugged, and with the purity of forgiveness which only children can bestow, dropped his left hand onto my thigh and squeezed. "It's O.K. I just wish you'd told me first that you liked me." I couldn't speak or move. The little boy was so gracious. "A teacher never said he liked me like that before," Ethan continued. "I guess it just suprised me because...because I like you a lot, too. Sir." Goosepimples sprang up along my skin. The child's voice was so soft, so confessional, so filled with resolution. Again, he was in control, and I could only follow where he led. "Are you cold?" the boy asked, turning to me. A moment, then he began to remove his coat. I shook my head and stopped him, still unable to look into his face. "You're just happy?" Ethan asked gently, so that only I could hear. I nodded. "Oh." he stroked my thigh. "You feel like a turkey. You know? How turkeys feel before you cook them?" The goosepimples rose up stronger, forming a braille of my love, and Ethan's delicate fingers traced them to read their meaning. The clarity of the message was greater than words could convey, and I heard Ethan gasp. "Wow. You really do like me, don't you?" the child breathed. "I don't know why but I'm glad. I thought you'd be mad at me. I've never seen a grown up cry." The tractor rolled across the playing fields, the cool night all around. Owls hooted in the forest, and the boys around us began to hoot in imitation. "Anyway, I'm just real sorry I made you cry." It was all to wonderful, too much, too charged with the magic I always dreamt of and knew was possible between a man and a boy. Uncharacteristically and without warning, I began to cry again, joyous tears spilling down my cheeks and falling like diamonds on my thighs. "Gee! Mr. Wilson!" Ethan fretted, cupping my face and wiping away my tears with his thumbs, smearing my clown makeup. I turned toward him, my eyes soulfully wide. The child flinched at the intensity of my emotion, then continued to wipe my tears. "Why are you crying? I'm just...I'm just me," Ethan peeped, confused by his power over me. Then the tractor began to turn in tight circles, speeding up. The children squealed and stood up, holding onto the wood rails of the trailer. "Ethan! Come on!' they called. I pulled off my red clown wig and red nose, then jerked my head for Ethan to join his friends. The child hesitated, checking to be sure that all was well, then he scrambled to his feet and stood on a hay bale, hefting his silver sword and thrusting it up. I wiped my face with the wig and ran my eyes of the slender, prepubescent swashbucker. Marvelling at his posture, at his life and the vigor of his play, the white feather weaving above his head -- so opposite of the hateful dunce cap -- and his long left arm thrust up against the sky, the silver sword sparkling. ***** Coda **** I woke to hard knocking on my bedroom door and swung myself out of bed. This time, I knew it was no crisis. I picked up the Teddy Bear and blue silk pajamas I'd folded and kept on my night stand. I opened the door. Ethan was there. He entered and strode to the bay window, his body silhoutted against the moon bright glass. He crossed his hands behind his back and stood facing me, legs together at attention. "I know it's late and I'm sorry to wake you. But I just...oh," he said, seeing the bear and pajamas in my hands. "I guess you know why I'm here." Silent, ceremoniously, I approached the little boy and knelt before him, offering up my gifts. Ethan was startled by my behavior but retained the composure of a regal prince. He accepted my homage, hugging the bear in his left arm, the silk pajamas in his right. I bowed before him, reached out and closed my hands around his bony ankles. "Don't...do this, Mr. Wilson," Ethan stammered. I remained bowing, reverent and submissive. Ethan set his hands on my shoulders as if knighting me. I looked up into his face, his thin cheeks dusted with moonlight, then I sighed and hugged his naked legs tight, my head against his right hip. "Oh, Ethan. Ethan," I gushed, worshipping him. "I'll never hurt you again. I'll do anything you say." The beanpole little boy stood like a statue, then he disentangled himself from my grasp and edged toward the door, his sense of the world forever altered. I remained kneeling, my back to him, bathed in the moonwash streaming through the window. I felt blessed: I was healed. "Goodnight, sir," the child peeped, his unchanged voice charged with the moment. I could sense his bewilderment, his curiosity and his confusion over what our friendship might develop into. A friendship like he had never known and would never know again. Then I heard Ethan leave my room, closing the door behind him. I went on kneeling for many minutes, folding my hands under my chin and praying to God that I be granted the chance to share all the love and care for precious Ethan that I'd waited all my life to give.