Page 70 of String Boys

But Vince has a little brother named Marcus, and I told him about Lily and Lulu and Agnes, and he told me about Marcus.

And you know something?

Talking about you to somebody made you feel more real.

I need to remember that.

You’re so good with words and pictures. No wonder the whole world is real to you. I’ll try to be more like you.

Love you.

Sleep good.

Seth

Making It Through

KELLY HUSTLEDtoward the bus stop in the chilly February morning, shoulders hunched against the wind.

He wasn’t even sure if the bus ran on Saturday, but he had just enough money in his little bank account to pay for the train ticket, and not enough for a cab or an Uber. But God, hehadto make it to Bridgford.

Before his head exploded.

Those magic hours with Seth hadn’t fixed everything, but they’d given Kelly some tools to keep working on it. And Seth hadn’t just visited that once. He’d come before Halloween, and for Thanksgiving and Christmas. He’d had to stay inside those times, and even for a space cowboy like Seth, wandering restlessly through the increasingly shrinking apartment wasn’t a treat.

But he’d been able to be there for Kelly as Kelly worked shit out in his own head.

Kelly was getting better at working that shit out in his own head.

He drew every day now.

Some days he drew scary things—things he’d done, things he’d seen, in that dank and horrible abandoned store.

Some days he drew his sisters or his mom and dad, or even, on occasion, Seth’s dad. He sent pictures of those drawings to Seth, and Seth had shown him a room full of printed-out drawings—they were all over his walls.

Some days he got out his colors and just drew feelings.

He would listen to Seth’s practice tapes on those days, and try to draw Seth’s music. He wasn’t sure what the results were worth, but those days always made his soul feel bright and shiny. He could do that a lot!

Some days, when his heart hurt too much, he would make Seth take selfies, and he would sketch those.

The day before had been one of those days.

HIS MOTHERhad been baking sugar cookies, setting aside frosting for his sisters in Valentine’s Day colors, along with sprinkles, and Kelly had thought, “I’ll have to take a plate down for Seth and his dad.”

And then he’d realized what he’d thought. And he remembered that he and Seth wouldn’t get Soccer Wednesday on Valentine’s Day this year, and that he wouldn’t get to give Seth a birthday blowjob like he had the year before.

And that he and Seth hadn’t done more than kiss in the last few visits, even when his father had been gone. Kelly’s body had been… healing, even though all the cuts and bruises and strains had disappeared long ago.

But he still ached and flinched from touch, except when he was really comfortable.

And Kelly realized—truthfully in his own mind—that he wouldn’t be able to do the same things he’d done the year before with Seth, because he wasn’t the same person inside. The person who’d been so fearless and joyful at what their bodies could do was afraid now. And Seth knew it and wasn’t pushing because Seth just wanted him to be happy.

He’d needed to draw Seth in the worst way.

He had about three sketches done, sitting beside him on the coffee table, when Matty stormed in, his face red from arguing with Dad. Kelly wasn’t sure what they were arguing about now—grades, or Isela, or the beer he’d smelled on Matty’s breath yesterday after school, or how Matty had mouthed off to his coach during soccer and had almost got kicked off the team.

Kelly didn’t really care anymore.