Free Lawnboy by Paul Lisicky Page A

forth. “Big. thirteen feet or more. Tell the teachers. Dangerous.”
    “Fuck the teachers,” he replied.
    I stared at him, blinking. I caught my breath. He’d never talked like this before. These simple words unsettled and mocked me, more than I could say.
    “I’d like to see it,” he stated.
    “Get out.”
    “I’m serious.”
    I slapped at a mosquito on my wrist. “You sure?”
    He followed me down the path. By the time we got to the shore, the alligator was gone, leaving no wake in the river, no imprints on the sand.
    “Liar,” he smiled.
    “I’m telling you. I saw it right here. ” But for some reason I found myself smiling along with him. Had I been imagining things?
    We sat upon the shoreline, watching the pelicans gliding inches above the brackish river. An air boat whined faintly in the distance, diminishing. The sky darkened a notch. Above a hammock of palms, a lone planet sparkled. The first star.
    “I thought you were leaving,” I said.
    “Tomorrow,” he said, leaning forward. “My dad’s coming. Sometime after breakfast.”
    “Your throat still hurts?”
    He laughed through his nostrils. “My throat feels fine. It’s never been better. I just needed to get out of here.”
    I laughed. I was going to tell him about the time when I, too, wrangled my way out of a school obligation, mimicking a sprained ankle after a basketball game, when I noticed the stricken, unsettled look on his face.
    “Do you hate it here?” he whispered.
    I glanced at his muddy shoes. I thought of all the things that had been said about him, things I knew he’d heard, how his time back at school would never be the same. The inside of my lip tasted like a penny. I couldn’t say anything but yes to him.
    “I thought so. You don’t seem like you belong with them.”
    “I don’t?”
    He rested his sneaker atop mine. For a few seconds I tried to ignore it, but the gesture was intentional, a game of sorts. He wanted me to play. I didn’t like such games, thought them childish and beneath me, so I slipped my shoe out from under his and dug my heel into his toes so that he winced, tears springing to his eyes.
    I looked in his face. He was laughing now. I had an uncomfortable feeling, an odd buzz of shame, excitement, sadness. Then something else took hold of me, something comfortable and friendly that told me I could be what I was with him. Why wasn’t I afraid anymore?
    “Hold still,” he murmured.
    It happened too smoothly for me to stop. I pulled in a breath. He fumbled for my fly and—to my discomfort—reached into my pants, pulled out my dick, holding it, watching it harden in his grasp. It would be years before it would even reach its adult size. Still, he looked at it like he’d never seen anything like it before. I thought of Mr. Albertson standing under the showerhead, confident, at peace with his body. “Amazing,” Douglass whispered, moving his small brown head.
    I leaned backward on my elbows. He began stroking me, dutiful and tender, the leaves turning silver, vermilion above us, making me forget that anyone else could even travel up the path, though, thankfully, they didn’t dare.

Chapter 7
    William came back from Key West on schedule, tanned and fit, more energetic and relaxed than he’d been in weeks. He knelt down to embrace the Dobermans, and they rushed to him, licking his face, nuzzling, nearly knocking him over until he shielded his head with his arms.
    “How are my children?” he asked them. His voice was sweet, in the manner of Mr. Peabody. “How are my pretty, good-for-nothing, well-behaved children?”
    They rolled on their backs, scuffing their hindquarters against the rug.
    He looked up at me, smiled. His eyes were nearly bloodshot. “And how are you?” he said merrily.
    “Good,” I said, and squatted down beside him.
    We kissed. I was relieved to see him back, though a small part of me already missed the longing, the empty space I’d contemplated in his absence. The week