But first, you and I must come to an agreement. A _business_ agreement. About the nature of the relationship between us." I stopped playing around, put down the guitar, and stared at him. I didn't like the idea of an agreement. Why did I need one? "No agreement," he said. "That way you cannot change your mind about our friendship." He stroked the scar on his chin. "Or about me." I waited for his next words. They were as inevitable as death. And they were sure to be bad. I couldn't wait to hear them. "Why do you want me?" he asked. "I will never love you. Why? Are you desperate for a boyfriend? Are you even a boy?" "I'm trying to be a boy," I replied. "That's why I'm here, you know. Since you are the only boy in town. You're probably the only person who'd take the time to show me how to be a boy. And it would be so much more convenient if you were my boyfriend. How about that?" "All right, don't get so excited. I'll do it. But I am not going to love you. You should know I'm not the love type. I never have been." "You don't need to love me," I said. "That would be too much trouble." He started to play with his knife in the dark. " _There_ is the trouble," he said. "Now I know why you are in trouble. Why don't you leave?" "You think I'm in trouble?" "Of course." He turned away from me. "It's a terrible thing to sleep with your best friend's daughter." "How do you know it wasn't your best friend's daughter?" "That's my point." "So I should have slept with you?" He laughed. "You don't believe me?" "It's not that I don't believe you. It's that I'm not _sure_." "Why are you sure about me? You don't even know me." "Because I have trouble sleeping with boys. And I've been good, so far." He grabbed my wrist. "You're hurting me," I said. "I don't mind hurting you," he said. "I like being in pain." I pulled away from him. "Don't think I'm a virgin," I said. "I know you're not." "You said you didn't care if I was a virgin." "I just don't want to be disappointed." "Do you care that I think you're weird?" "You know," he said. "I'm not really that weird. I'm just trying to get along in the world." "Why do you have to go to a gay bar for gay stuff? Why not go to the straight bar where straight people go?" "The straight bar doesn't have anyone to talk to. So it doesn't matter what happens there. When I'm in a gay bar, it feels like a party. And I can see who I can get to talk to. No one pays any attention to me at a straight bar. So I'd have to talk to someone myself, and if I told him he was the father of my lover's unborn child, I might as well kill myself." "Why did you bring me to this gay bar?" "Why did you come?" "Because I want to get my stuff out of the house." "So do I. You want to rob someone else?" "Someone has to." "I'm just saying. You want to get your money?" "That would be a lot of fun." "Then take some of it." "Why do you have to be such a drag about everything?" "It makes things more interesting." He started to laugh again. But his laughter wasn't the pleasant laugh that used to annoy me. It was a deeper laughter, a nasty laugh. And that meant he was truly happy. The laughter was making him happy. I didn't know if that was good or bad. "I want to go to bed now," he said. "And I want you to go to bed with me. So get ready." # Chapter Forty-one I followed him to the bedroom. When we got there, he switched off the lights and got into his bed. I walked over to his stereo and put on the sound track of _The Wizard of Oz_ with Judy Garland singing. Then I lay down on the floor, next to the bed, and fell asleep. I'd never been in a gay bar before. I didn't know what to expect. But I wasn't surprised. The place was like a party. I had my own corner, my own little spot. I found myself laughing and talking to someone. I didn't recognize him. Maybe he wasn't really gay at all. Or maybe I was the one who'd gotten lucky. As soon as he and I had finished our conversation, he moved over to another part of the bar. I got a little dizzy from spinning around in circles. The person who became my next new friend was black. He asked me if I was a brother. He had been in prison. He knew I had been in prison, too. He made me talk about it. And I told him it wasn't fun. He liked that. He got very drunk and began to tell me about the first time he was in prison. "I never been to prison," I said. "You will be there," he said. "You got to make sure you end up in a place like that." "Have you been in prison?" "Twice. I was a member of the Black Panthers." "But you're not with them now?" "It's over," he said. "I gave up on my black brothers." "Why did you give up?" "White guys got me." "What does that have to do with the Panthers?" "The Panthers were started by black people to deal with black people. We all had guns. That wasn't a problem. The white cops started taking our guns away. Then they started shooting us. I couldn't work with those fools." I asked him if he had shot a cop. He looked at me. "Sure. I shot one of them. He shot me first. Right in the face. That's what started all this." "How did you know it was a cop?" "I saw the uniform." "Did you arrest him?" "I thought about it. But the gun was empty. We were running, too. So I guess it would have been murder." "You have many guns?" "That's why I had to get out of the party." "I have a gun," I said. "In my room." "We can't use them. They're all illegal." He was really excited about this. The way I felt about guns. But it couldn't be as good as sex with a female bodyguard. "What about me?" I asked. "You got to get rid of that gun. What good are you to me with that gun?" I said I'd probably drop it off in a drugstore. Or I'd throw it into the river. "No," he said. "I can't let you do that. You got to get rid of it yourself." I got up and went to the bathroom. I took off my socks and put them on my hook in the ceiling. I washed my hands and face in the sink. Then I went to my bed, where I found a plastic bottle of aspirin. I picked the bottle up and looked around the room for somewhere to drop it. Then I saw the bathtub. It was nearly empty, and I put the bottle down there. I walked back to my bed. I went to sleep pretty soon after that. I dreamt I was in a tunnel. I felt bad. I could not get a grip on how bad. It felt like it was a part of my stomach that was being stabbed. Or maybe I wasn't even in my body. I was stuck in the tunnel. I woke up to the sound of someone crying. I found my pants where I had put them in the shower. I went to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. I wasn't going to let the black guy get me sick. I had to be strong. And I couldn't allow myself to feel anything. After I went back to my room, I opened my pants and saw a pair of scissors. Someone had cut off my underwear. They were in the pocket. They were a different pair from what I usually wear. But I knew who had taken them. I went back to the bathroom. I started to put the pants on. But the black man came into the room. "What's happening?" he asked. "You left a pair of my underpants in the bathroom." "I knew you were looking at them. I took them off. I was gonna put them back. I didn't realize you