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FOURTEEN

If you want to find that boy, then go and find him.

Eddie is wandering, searching, unsure what is real and what is true whether true is real and oh, it just feels like he’s spinning, tilting, losing whatever belief he thought he had in himself, whatever trust, whatever faith. He walks without thinking, faster than ever before, and yet every step is heavy. When did every step become heavy?

Things were so much easier before. He managed his fantasies just fine back in Mesa Springs. He took them where he wanted them to go, stopped them when he was finished. He had the mountains to the west to let him know where he was. He had his job, his home, his bedroom, Donna. How eagerly he left it all behind.

But an easy life isn’t much of a life at all, is it, Eddie? You didn’t know who you were there. You didn’t have to, because it was decided for you. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Easy. But empty. Why else would you fill your days with fantasies? Why else would you seek escape every time you closed your eyes? Why were you only yourself when you were pretending to be somewhere else?

Mesa Springs will never have the answers you need. You’ve always known that. But maybe Francis does. Even if he doesn’t stay, can’t stay, won’t stay, maybe he will know what to do, what to touch, what to say.

Eddie goes first to the familiar spots—Jefferson Market, the Hangout Shoe Repair, the Algonquin, even that same bench back up in Central Park, the one with all his Sharpie marks. But he can’t find Francis anywhere.