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“God, that would be hot!” Cameron said, turning around to face him.

Anthony embraced him, and seeing their hugging bodies reflected in the mirror, realized just how lucky he was.

— — —

When he started gagging from the effort of swallowing so many pills, Ricky went to the backyard and sat in a chair, deciding it would be his final resting place. The mess would be easier to clean up, in case he choked to death on his own barf or something terrible. Although he was hoping to pass out before that happened.

Ricky stared at an overcast sky. He watched branches shiver in the breeze, as if they could feel winter approaching, and realized he would never see the snow again. Which was a shame, because he had always liked it. Christmas would be especially terrible for his parents. He felt bad about that, but it was too late now. Ricky watched a bird hop around the yard—turning its head on occasion to eye what was hidden in the grass—and envied the simplicity of its life. It would never know the sort of pain he was in. When the bird finally flew away, he wanted to join it. Although he would be going on a journey soon, despite his body remaining here. He sat motionless, willing himself to leave this world behind, and felt a tickling sensation. An ant was making its way up his arm. Ricky got down on his hands and knees, gently blowing on the little insect until it landed on the patio stone and scurried away. Just because he was going to die, didn’t mean that it had to.

When he returned to his chair, Ricky’s head felt woozy. And kind of good. A warmth was spreading from his stomach, filling him with contentment. Things weren’t so bad really. Omar was nice. And it was his birthday. Ricky tasted guilt. He hoped thatOmar wouldn’t find out about this yet. He didn’t want to ruin the special occasion. If he died at all, because at the moment, he feltincrediblygood. So good, in fact, that it was hard to remember what he’d been so upset about.

Ricky snorted and laughed as he stood. He didn’t want to die! He felt more like… like… talking to other people. He was lonely, that’s all. And a little unsteady on his feet as he went inside, but the sensation passed. His head continued to hum pleasantly though. Whatever his parents needed those pills for, they sure got the job done. They’d even cured him of his suicidal tendencies!

Ricky went upstairs to his room. He noticed the unconnected phone on the floor, picked it up, and put it to his ear. “Hi, Mrs. Weaver,” he said. “Remember the time I said your oatmeal cookies were better than my mom’s? That was a lie. I never liked your cooking. Ha ha!” He tossed the phone aside when noticing the gift-wrapped rectangle sitting on his desk—a VHS tape ofMetropolisthat he had bought for Omar. Ricky was sure that he would love it. He could still deliver the present, he supposed, since he didn’t seem to be dying after all. Anthony would be at the party, of course. He'd probably roll his eyes when he saw Ricky walk in. So what? It would be fun to annoy him! Ricky might even hit on Cameron again, just to set him off.

“May I have this dance?” Ricky asked, bowing with a flourish in front of his favorite teddy bear. “I hope you don’t mind if I get touchy-feely, Cameron.”

He fell onto the bed and began smooching Mr. Gumbo’s furry face. Then he rolled over and tried to remember what he’d been doing. Watching a movie?

“Robot boobs!” he said, sitting upright suddenly. Then he began singing, “Happy Boob Day to youuuuu!”

Ricky got to his feet, grabbed the wrapped gift, and went downstairs. He put on his shoes with some effort and checked himself in the bathroom mirror, puzzled by how his reflection seemed to waver. He watched it shrug apathetically before he went outside. The day was beautiful. So incredibly pretty! Thank god he hadn’t managed to kill himself.

“Hello!” he cried, waving at a car as it drove by. “Nice to see you,” he said cordially to a fire hydrant when reaching the end of the block.

Ricky continued tromping down the sidewalk, happy ascould be. The houses seem to float by around him. Almost as if he was standing in place and the world was a rolled up matte painting playing on two spools. Or like those cartoons, where if you watched carefully enough, you’d notice the background start to repeat. In fact, everythingwas getting a little surreal. Too much for his liking. He felt detached from his body, as if it belonged to someone else and he was only looking through the eyes. Weird, but oh well. He didn’t have much farther to go. Omar’s house was just a few blocks away.

Ricky’s stomach turned. All those pills were beginning to disagree with him. He burped a couple times, not feeling much better. The warm feeling inside had increased, the pleasant hum overwhelming now. He wanted it to stop. His arms were tingling, his legs like rubber noodles as he stumbled. Walking was hard! Just a little longer now. He’d give Omar the gift and ask someone to drive him home, so he could sleep this off.

Ricky was crossing the street when the VHS tape slipped from his grasp. He bent over to pick it up, but it seemed impossibly far away. Although the pavement was getting closer, and fast! Ricky stared in confusion as the street rose up to meet him. He felt pain, numb and distant, his vision filling with stars. He had gotten his wish after all. He was dying. The last thing he thought about, before everything went black, was his mother’s concerned expression at the breakfast table this morning and how much this was going to hurt her.

— — —

Silvia was driving the truck, her attention split between the road and the gift next to her, which kept slipping around on the seat. She’d bought Omar an inflatable raft, since they had recently talked about fishing on the river. He had never done so before. Silvia had, when younger, but rust had eaten out the bottom of the boat, and now it was being used as a planter behind their trailer. The raft wouldn’t be good for fishing. It was mostly a joke present, because as far as she could tell, Omar already had everything that he wanted. Although knowing him, they’d be out on the raft next spring, and swimming for the shore not long after that.

“Damn it,” she swore when she turned onto Omar’s street and the raft slid away. She’d wrapped a big ribbon around it and didn’t want it to fall over and crush the bow she’d worked sohard on. Silvia managed to grab the raft and pull it close again. Then she focused on the road, puzzled when she saw a young guy wander out into it, swaying like he was drunk. She slowed as he dropped something, bent over, and then began waving his arms around like he couldn’t reach it. She was just about to laugh when he toppled over and landed on his head.

Silvia hit the brakes. The guy had slumped over onto his side and was no longer moving. She stared in disbelief before putting the truck in park and hopping out to check on him. He was young. Still in junior high, she guessed. And he was groaning, thank goodness, because it meant he was alive.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

No response.

Silvia stooped next to him and shook him by the shoulder. This summoned another groan. The kid tried to open his eyes, but then he clenched them shut again, as if in pain. She carefully brushed aside the mop of black hair to get a better look. Surrounded by swelling was a nasty scrape that was bloodied but not actively bleeding.

“You’re okay,” she said. “Just a bump.”

“Wanna go home,” the kid murmured.

She glanced around, hoping to find someone who was searching for him. The street was empty. So were the sidewalks.

“I can give you a ride,” she said. “Can you stand up?”

“Huh-uh.”

She sighed and looked to the nearest house. She could pound on the door and ask them to call an ambulance. Although that would mean leaving him in the street. And abandoning her truck. “You have to get up,” she said. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

The kid stirred, and with a groan, rolled over onto his hands and knees. She was reminded of Hugo, and how difficult it was to wake him in the morning. Silvia stood and lifted the kid under his arms. Thankfully he wasn’t very big. Without much effort, she managed to drape his arm around her neck. They made it a few steps before the kid retched and puked, spewing vomit like a fire hose that, by some miracle, managed not to splatter her.