He gazed out the window at the young, budding oak tree and wondered what it would look like in fifty years, what North Park School would look like, what the boy sitting in this desk—or whatever desk they had in fifty years, would look like. What would his hair look like, his style of clothes? What kind of music would he listen to? What TV shows would he watch? Fifty years. Hmm. 1969 plus fifty would be 2019. He would be sixty-one, turning sixty-two in 2019. He would be a grandfather, maybe a great-grandfather—or maybe not. Maybe he wouldn't have any children. Maybe he would never get married. What if he got married and his wife was just like his mother? What if…
"Timothy?"
What if he and Trevor lived together for the rest of their lives, just like a man and woman might? Would Trevor want to or would he find someone else, another boy or man, or would Trevor decide he liked girls when he got older and Tim would be left alone?. Maybe no one else would ever love him and he would be alone. Maybe he would be sixty-two and alone with no one in his life, no one who understood him, no one who…
"Timothy!"
He jumped and looked to the front of the classroom as Mrs. Swan glared at him. His eyes were moist and she suddenly sighed and lost the anger in her face. In a softer voice, she said, "Timothy, please pay attention."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied in a barely audible voice.
"Now, would you please tell us what you think the message is when Simon finds the boar's head and then runs to the other boys?"
Timothy looked down at the cover of his paperback copy of Lord of the Flies and took a deep breath as he struggled to think.
"Well, he's seeing things. He thinks the boar's head is the Lord of the Flies and that it's telling Simon that it's not the monster, but that the boys are the monster. So, when he runs to tell the others, they're dancing with Jack and going crazy because they're all caught up in what's happening and can't think straight and they kill Simon. Simon realized that they had all turned into the monster and they killed him. They were the monster."
Mrs. Swan nodded and said, "So, what is the lesson in this?"
Timothy looked around the classroom. Jimmy Blankenship was rolling his eyes looking at him with contempt. Trevor, however, was smiling and nodding. Timothy felt somewhat emboldened and said, "Sometimes, when people are in a mob, they do things they wouldn't do by themselves. Sometimes, people get caught up in their emotions when they're in crowds and mobs and they turn into monsters and forget that their civilized humans. It's like they forget the rules."
He paused and then added, "It's like when Jimmy Blankenship and his friends were yelling insults at me and Trevor last week over by the jungle gym. The other boys were laughing and cheering him on because they were all in the group and they forgot the rules and did things they would never have done by themselves but they did them because they were in a group and everyone was going crazy just the way Jack and his tribe went crazy when they lost their minds in the dancing and killed Simon. Sometimes, on the playground outside, it gets like Lord of the Flies."
He could see Mrs. Swan's eyes grow wide with surprise as she looked at him and then at Jimmy Blankenship. Timothy glanced over at Trevor and saw a look of pride and satisfaction on his face at the same moment that Jimmy Blankenship's face dissolved into anger and hate. Several other boys looked away with red faces and shame.
"That was a very profound observation, Timothy, and I am proud of you for understanding what Golding was trying to show in that scene. I'm also impressed that you found a way to show how that relates to real life. I can also see from the embarrassment I observe on the faces of a number of boys in the class and the anger on Jimmy Blankenship's face that what you describe as happening the other day must have actually happened. Sadly, I'm not surprised, Jimmy."
"Little Timmy's a lyin' woosie!" Jimmy declared hatefully. "He's just Trevor's girlfriend and it should have been him who died instead of his daddy, even though my old man says Timmy's daddy didn't have any balls!"
"James Blankenship!" Mrs. Swan cried with horror. "Stand up! Come with me, now!"
"It's the truth!" Jimmy exclaimed as he stood. "Him and Trevor just hug and kiss and act like boyfriend and girlfriend! It's disgusting! Just ask Daniel! He's caught 'em!"
"Yeah!" Daniel said. "I seen 'em!"
"Come with me, now!" Mrs. Swan repeated furiously.
The bully sullenly followed the teacher toward the door, but not without firing a murderous look in Timothy's direction. When the teacher and boy had left the room, Trevor turned to Daniel and said, "Why are you so buddy-buddy with Jimmy Blankenship all of a sudden, Weinberg? You even talk like him now!"
"'Cause he's not a fag, like a you and Timmy Woosie!"
Slowly, Timothy rose from his chair and stared with hatred at the boy. Daniel seemed to shrink as he saw the raw emotion in Timothy's face.
"You think you're better than everyone else in this class, Daniel, but you're not," Timothy said in a low, even voice. "You're a pest and you irritate everyone. Jimmy Blankenship doesn't like you. You're just his spy and that's the only reason he talks to you. You're nothing but a snitch and a spy and a liar and no one likes you."
"That's not true!" Daniel whined.
"You irritate everyone and you brag all the time about how much money you have and how great your dad is. Well, if your dad's the best doctor at Fremont Hospital, how come he couldn't save my father's life? How come he couldn't cut out that tumor and not kill my father? Huh? Tell me that, Daniel? Tell everyone in class what a good doctor your father is when he all he did was kill my father!"
Everyone in the class looked at Timothy with horror and Trevor stood up.
"Tim, don't."
"It's true!" Timothy declared. "Daniel's always bragging and trying to make himself out to be so much better than everyone else when all he is is irritating and whiny."
He glared at Daniel and exclaimed, "You're father's a lousy doctor. You father killed my father! My father was a good man and your father killed him! He killed my father! Your father killed my father!"
Timothy suddenly ran to Daniel's desk, crying and screaming, "He killed him! He killed him!" As Daniel shrank in terror, Timothy began to wildly hit him about the head and shoulders while other boys jumped up and tried to pull him off the crying boy. Trevor joined them, exclaiming, "Tim! Tim! Calm down!"
"He killed my Daddy! He killed my Daddy!" Timothy cried.
"No, he didn't!" Trevor yelled as he yanked Timothy back. "He didn't even operate on your dad! It was the doctors from Kansas City who operated on him!"
He stood in front of the panting, crying boy as Timothy continued to swing his arms in a futile attempt to strike the whimpering Daniel.
Mr. Smith ran into the room from his own classroom across the hall and demanded, "What's going on in here?"
No one spoke as Trevor held the crying Timothy. Daniel whined, "Timothy went crazy! He's crazy! He was hitting me! He's crazy!"
The man glared at Timothy and Trevor and barked, "Out in the hall! Now!"
Trevor nodded and tried to guide the recalcitrant Timothy toward the front of the class. However, as they reached the door, Timothy collapsed in a bawling mass on the floor.
"Get up!" Mr. Smith ordered. "Get up!"
Trevor looked up and asked, "Can you wait a minute, please? He's upset. He just lost his father and he's upset."
The teacher sighed as he glared down at the two. Gradually, Timothy's sobs subsided and Trevor helped him to his feet. Mrs. Swan returned at that moment, without Jimmy Blankenship, and asked, "What in the world has happened here?"
"I heard a ridiculous ruckus over here and found Holbrook beating Daniel Weinberg and screaming like an idiot," Mr. Smith declared. "And, Huckabee, here, is being a typical subversive by trying to make excuses for Holbrook's behavior."
Trevor started to protest, but Mrs. Swan's look told him to remain silent. She turned to Mr. Smith and softly said, "I think I can take it from here, Mr. Smith. Thank you for your help."
"You need help with paddling them?" the man asked hopefully as he looked with disgust at Timothy and Trevor.
"No, thank you," Mrs. Swan replied curtly as she turned her back on the man and stepped between him and the two boys.
Mr. Smith sighed with disappointment and turned to leave, but not before adding hopefully, "Well, if you need my help, let me know."
Mrs. Swan ignored him as he walked away and placed hands on their shoulders.
"Mrs. Swan! Timothy was hitting me! I think I have a concussion! I'm gonna get a black eye! I need to see the nurse! I need to go to the hospital!"
"Oh, shut up, Daniel!" the woman barked before catching herself and adding in a softer voice, "I'm sorry, Daniel. Come here."
With a look petulant satisfaction, Daniel rose as Timothy sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his wrist.
"He's crazy! He's crazy!" he exclaimed as he pointed to Timothy.
Mrs. Swan sighed as she led the three boys out of the classroom and down the hall toward the principal's office, muttering, "I never thought a discussion of Lord of the Flies would result in such chaos… but I guess it does prove the point of the book."
---o-0-o---
"How dare you embarrass and humiliate me this way!"
Timothy's mother dragged him from the school building and toward the Mercury Comet illegally parked along the curb in front of the school. Dr. Weinberg glared at her from his Cadillac as Daniel sat in the front seat with contentment. Timothy said nothing as he followed her. His face showed no emotion as she declared, "I had to stand there and listen to that bastard doctor lecture me and accuse me of being a bad mother. And, it's all your fault! You know he didn't kill your father! And, fighting like a common thug! You're as bad as that white trash Blankenship kid. Your father would be so ashamed of you. Your father would never have tolerated this."
As they climbed into the car, through the tears in his eyes, Timothy saw Trevor and his father emerging from the front of the school. Allen waved energetically at them as Trevor suddenly ran toward the car.
"Oh, hell," Timothy's mother sighed. "What does that hippy want?"
Timothy rolled down his window as his mother started her car. The Weinberg Cadillac pulled past as the doctor glared at Timothy's mother. Allen approached the window as Trevor stood nearby, watching Timothy with clutched hands and concern on his face.
"Betty, I'm really worried about Tim. This isn't something that he does. It's completely out of character for him. Perhaps he could spend the weekend with us. Maybe Trevor can help him."
Timothy's mother glared at the man and replied, "I think you're a bad influence on him, but I can't stand the sight of him right now, so fine. You can come by to pick him up. I'm not driving him over there."
Timothy looked down in further shame. Allen reached into the car and ran the back of his fingers across the boy's face. Timothy wanted nothing more than to lie on Trevor's bed and feel his friend hug him. He looked up and whispered to the man, "Thank you."
Allen nodded and said, "I'll come right over. Bring enough clothes for the weekend. Okay?"
Timothy nodded and met Trevor's worried eyes as the car suddenly darted out into the traffic in front of the school.
---o-0-o---
Timothy sat on the floor of Trevor's room, his back against the bed as the first movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony played on the record player. Timothy had always liked the part in the middle that sounded like a happy march and giggled as he watched Trevor skipping about the room like a nymph or an elf. Next to the Ode to Joy in the Ninth Symphony, this was Timothy's favorite bit of music by Beethoven, which was why Trevor had put it on. Trevor laughed when he saw the reluctant grin and heard the giggles.
"You should be a ballet dancer," Timothy said.
Trevor grinned and said, "Actually, I think that would be fun. We sat in the balcony and watched the San Francisco Ballet perform once when we lived in Berkeley and I thought it was beautiful. I loved how strong and beautiful the men were, how powerful they were even though they were being so graceful. It would be cool to be a ballet dancer."
Timothy could see the rise in the front of Trevor's pants and suddenly whispered, "Let's do it."
A look of disappointment came over Trevor's face as he stopped dancing to the music. He frowned and took a deep breath as Timothy asked, "What's the matter?"
"I don't want to do it, right now. Why don't we just listen to the music and maybe play backgammon or something."
"I want to do it," Timothy said with a throaty, breathy quality.
Trevor furrowed his forehead and said, "No. I don't want to.
"I do."
"I don't."
"Why not?" Timothy whined, aware he just sounded like Daniel Weinberg.
Trevor sat down beside his friend, but pulled away as Timothy tried to wrap his arms around him and kiss him.
"What's the matter with you?" Timothy asked with growing anger. "I want to do it!"
"NO! We're not going to do it!" Trevor yelled. "That's all you ever want to do anymore. All you want to do is get sexy and I don't want to do it all the time. I love you, Timothy, because, you're smart and cool and we like the same books and games and art and stuff. You and I are so much alike. But, now, you don't ever want to do all the neat, fun things we used to. You just want to make out and suck dicks. Well, I don't like doing it all the time. I like spending time with you doing other stuff."
"I want to do it!" Timothy cried angrily. "Don't you understand? I HAVE to! I have to do it!"
"No, you don't. We'll do it tonight when we go to bed."
"NO! I WANT TO DO IT NOW!"
Trevor moved away from his friend and stood up, a look of shock on his face as he said, "Tim, listen to you. Ever since your dad died, you've been different. I know it hurts to lose your father. I know it doesn't make any sense. I know your mother hasn't done anything to help you. But, ever since that Sunday night when we first did it, that's all you want to do. You're turning into a sex maniac, Tim."
"I am not! I want to do it!
"NO! Shut up saying that! We're not doing it!" Trevor yelled furiously.
Timothy reached for the front of Trevor's pants, but his friend knocked his hand away. Timothy angrily slapped his arm and glared at him with rage. Trevor's eyes grew red as he stood up and backed away.
"Maybe you should go home."
Furiously, Tim jumped up and grabbed the overnight bag he had dropped at the foot of Trevor's bed.
"Fine," he yelled as he marched out of the room.
Storming down the stairs, he ran into Allen in the foyer, but said nothing as he flung the front door open and marched out the door. Allen looked up at Trevor standing at the top of the stairs and saw the tears flowing down the boy's cheeks.
---o-0-o---
He lay in the dark, fully dressed, atop his bed. He had stopped crying an hour before and now simply stared at the wall beside his bed. Downstairs, he could hear Andy and Sally screaming at each other and is mother screaming back at them in response. He wanted to die. This wasn't what his life was supposed to be like. It was supposed to be quiet and organized and peaceful, not loud and chaotic and full of discord. And now there was no one to whom he could turn to express his pain. His daddy was gone and Trevor had turned against him. Everyone in class hated him. His teacher and the principal hated him. His mother hated him even more than she usually did. Everything was wrong. Everything. His grandparents were so stuffed-shirt and proud, he was sure they would hate him, too. There was no one to turn to.
Trevor. His Trevor. The best friend a guy could ever hope to have. Even Trevor had turned against him. Trevor. He wanted to die. He just wanted to close his eyes and have it all just… stop.
The doorbell rang. It was a Friday night. Who would come by on a Friday night? He didn't care. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was dead, with no thoughts in his mind, his breathing stopped, nothing. A blank nothing.
He couldn't stop breathing. He gasped and took a deep breath. He couldn't just stop breathing. How could he do it? How could he just end it all, make the pain go away.
He could rub his thing, but even that would take too much effort. All he wanted to do was lie motionless on his bed, hear nothing, see nothing, do… nothing.
There was a soft knock on the door. It surely wasn't his mother. She never knocked. If his grandfather had driven down from Kansas City, he would have knocked much harder. He'd have pounded on the door and bellowed at him. Timothy was curious, but he didn't have the energy to respond. He just wanted them to go away and leave him alone.
"Timothy? It's Allen. May I come in?"
Trevor's father? What would he be doing here? Timothy thought for a moment and then mumbled, "Yeah."
The door opened slowly and a thin sliver of light appeared between the door and the door frame, growing wider and revealing the silhouette of the man and his shaggy hair.
"Hey, Little Guy, do you mind if we have a little talk?" the man asked as he stepped into the darkened room and closed the door behind him.
"No."
Allen stepped to the edge of the bed and asked, "No, you don't mind or no, you don't want to talk?"
"Both. No. I mean…"
Timothy sighed and felt the man sit down on the edge of the bed. He felt Allen's hand on his right shoulder. The man squeezed Timothy's shoulder gently and he said, "Life's been a real shit sandwich for you the last few weeks, hasn't it?"
Timothy said nothing, but he nodded, his face still turned away from the man.
"Sometimes, things happen that just don't make any sense at all. People say and do things sometimes that they might not ordinarily do. Things happen you would never expect. Sometimes, it's hard as hell to figure out what's going on. And, sometimes there's no one who can explain it and you just feel lost. Sometimes, you do things that make you forget all the pain you're in and those things become important because you can escape all the misery in your life. But, then, when you're done, the misery is still there, so you want to do it again and again and again and pretty soon, that's all you're doing and you forget to live your life. Sometimes, the people you trust the most betray you and sometimes the people you trust the most see that you're hurting yourself and don't want to contribute to you hurting yourself and you might think they're betraying you, but they aren't."
Timothy swallowed and said, "Mom hates me."
Allen sighed and responded, "Your mom's definitely different. I don't think she hates you, but I think she's in her own pain and doesn't see as clearly as she should the pain you're in."
Timothy said nothing. He stared at the wall. He wanted to say something else, but Allen was Trevor's dad. His dad. How could he say what he wanted to say to Trevor's dad?
"Tim, you heard your father that last night tell me that he wanted me to look out for you. He wanted me to be there when you needed someone to talk to. I know I'm a lot different from your dad, but he knew I'd be honest with you. Do you want me to be honest right now, Tim? For your dad's sake?"
Timothy nodded.
"All right," Allen said before he took a deep breath.
"Trevor loves you. It's not just the love of a best friend or a brother. Trevor loves you. I know it and his mom knows it. And, it's okay. We understand. Trevor loves you and when someone loves someone else, they worry about them and they would do anything to make them feel better, even if, sometimes, that means they have to do something really hard and say no to the person they love."
Oh, God. Allen knew. Timothy closed his eyes.
"Tim, I'm going to tell you something very personal. I know what you're feeling right now because when I was fired from my position at the University of California, I almost went crazy with humiliation and embarrassment and I started smoking a lot more pot than I did before and… well… I tried to do it a lot more with my wife because sex feels good and when I was having sex with my wife, I didn't think about all the trouble in my life."
Timothy made a face. He hated the idea of grown-ups doing it. How gross! But, he knew his daddy had done it with his mother. At least twice, maybe more. He had heard those weird sounds in their bedroom the night he went out with Trevor to see the meteor shower and he knew now that they were doing it that night. Yeah, it was gross and it was gross to hear Trevor's dad talking about doing it with his wife, but…
The boy rolled over and looked at Allen.
"Look, Tim. Trevor is honest with us and we don't judge him. Or you. We love Trevor and we've come to love you, too. We know that the two of you make each other feel good. We understand. But, little guy, I know, too, what it's like when you feel bad and everything is horrible and all you want to do is feel better and… well, what feels better than sex? But, Trevor is worried that you're starting to rely on that too much, that you want to do it more than the other things that the two of you do, the things that make your friendship, your relationship, your love with Trevor so meaningful and important. Do you understand?"
Timothy could feel his face burning with embarrassment. He could never have discussed this with his father! Never. But, Allen seemed different. Maybe it was because he didn't know Allen that well. Slowly, he nodded.
Allen smiled and said, "I've talked to your mother and she's agreed that you can spend the night with us for as long as you want, all weekend, all week, until school's out. As long as you want because we love you like a son, Tim. And there's a boy outside this door right now who loves you more than life itself."
"Trevor's here?" Tim croaked.
Allen nodded and the door opened again. Trevor peeked in and softly said, "Tim?"
Allen stood and Tim whispered, "Trevor."
The curly-haired boy ran to Tim's bed and fell atop it. The two embraced and cried together. After a long moment, as the boys desperately held each other, Allen softly said, "Boys, let's go home."
Together, in a single voice, the two replied, "Yes."