“You afraid of that word, too?”
“I’m not afraid of any words.”
“So say it.”
“jeez.”
“Say it.”
“Hard-on.”
“You got one?”
Colin was almost sick with embarrassment.
“You got a hard-on, good buddy?”
“Yeah.”
“Know what it’s called?”
“Marvin.”
Roy laughed. “That’s funny. Real quick. I like that.”
The other boy’s approval was a palliative. Colin’s fear subsided just a bit.
“Do you really know what it’s called?” Roy asked.
“A penis.”
“That’s as bad as ‘breast.”’
Colin said nothing.
“Say ‘cock’ for me.”
Colin said it.
“Very good,” Roy said. “Excellent. Before this movie’s over, you’ll know all the words, and you’ll feel comfortable with them, just like I do. Stick with me, kid, and I’ll bring you up right. Hey, look! Look what he’s doing to her now! Look, Colin! What a popper! Look!”
Colin felt as if he were on a skateboard, rocketing down a long, steep hill, totally out of control. But he looked.
8
They got back to Santa Leona at ten forty-five and stopped at a service station on Broadway. The place was closed for the night; the only light was in the soft-drink machine.
Roy fished in his pocket for change. “What do you want? I’m buying.”
“I have some money,” Colin said.
“You bought supper.”
“Well … okay. I’ll have grape.”
They were silent for a while, chugging their drinks.
Finally Roy said, “This is a great night, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“You having fun?”
“Sure.”
“I’m having one hell of a good time, and you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re here,” Roy said.
“Yeah,” Colin said, heavy on the self-deprecation, “I’m always the life of the party.”
“I mean it,” Roy said. “A guy couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.”
This time, the cause of Colin’s blush was as much pride as embarrassment.
“In fact,” Roy said, “you’re the only friend I have, and the only friend I need.”
“You’ve got hundreds of friends.”
“They’re just acquaintances. There’s a big difference between friends and acquaintances. Until you moved to town, I’d been a long time between friends.”
Colin didn’t know if Roy was telling the truth or making fun of him. He had no experience by which to judge, for no one else had ever talked to him as Roy had just done.
Roy put down his half-finished bottle of cola and took a penknife out of his pocket. “I think it’s time for this.”
“For what?”
Standing in the soft light from the soda machine, Roy opened the knife, put the sharp point against the meaty part of his palm, and pressed hard enough to draw blood: a single thick drop like a crimson pearl. He squeezed the tiny wound until more blood oozed from it and trickled down his hand.
Colin was aghast. “Why’d you do that?”
“Hold out your hand.”
“Are you crazy?”
“We’ll do it just like the Indians.”
“Do what?”
“We’ll be blood brothers.”
“We’re already friends:”
“Being blood brothers is a whole lot better.”
“Oh yeah? Why?”
“When our blood has mingled, we’ll be like one person. In the future, any friends I make will automatically become your friends. And your friends will be mine. We’ll always stand together, never apart. The enemies of one will be the enemies of the other, so we’ll be twice as strong and twice as smart as anyone else. We’ll never fight alone. It’ll be you and me against the whole damned world. And the world better look out.”
“All of that just because of a bloody handshake?” Colin asked.
“The important thing is what the handshake symbolizes. It stands for friendship and love and trust.”
Colin was unable to take his eyes from the scarlet thread that crossed Roy’s palm and wrist.
“Give me your hand,” Roy said.
Colin was excited about being blood brothers with Roy, but he was also squeamish. “That knife doesn’t look clean.”
“It is.”
“You can get blood poisoning from a dirty cut.”
“If there was any chance of that, would I have cut myself first?”
Colin hesitated.
“For Christ’s sake,” Roy said, “the hole won’t be any bigger than a pinprick. Now give me your hand.”
Reluctantly Colin held out his right hand, palm up. He was trembling.
Roy grasped him firmly and put the point of the blade to his skin.
“It’ll just sting for a second,” Roy assured him.
Colin didn’t dare speak for fear his voice would quaver badly.
The pain was sudden, sharp, but not long-lasting. Colin bit his lip, determined not to cry out.
Roy folded the knife and put it away.
With shaky fingers Colin pressed the wound until it was bleeding freely.
Roy slipped his bloody hand into Colin’s. His grip was firm.
Colin squeezed back with all his strength. Their wet flesh made a barely audible squishing sound as they shook hands.
They stood in front of the deserted service station, in cool night air scented with gasoline, staring into each other’s eyes, breathing each other’s breath, feeling strong and special and wild.
“My brother,” Roy said.
“My brother.”
“Forever,” Roy said.
“Forever.”
