Free Drag Queen in the Court of Death by Caro Soles Page B

difference," I said. "That's nothing."
"Ronnie, you're not listening. I'm married. End of story. This conversation is over." And he walked down the hall, nearly ran down the stairs and out to his car.
I went into Lard Ass's room and looked out the window and watched him. He sat in his car for a long time, his forehead on the steering wheel. Then he burned rubber out of there with a squeal of tires and I was all alone.
God, how I hate the weekends! It was so bad I dropped down to Freemont's and smoked some weed while we watched Gunsmoke . It helped a little. I told Tucker all about Michael. He only grunted a few times and said "Whatever turns you on, man." Big help he is. But at least he always has a good supply of grass and sometimes mushrooms too. And he doesn't care enough to try to hurt me and Michael ... if there ever is a me and Michael....
... November 21, 1964
...I had the nightmare again. This time I woke myself up by falling out of bed, and for a minute I didn't know where the fuck I was. It was hard to breathe. I was naked on all fours panting like a dog with my head hanging down. I couldn't move. Couldn't get away from the pain. I was so scared I was shaking all over. Uncle Bunny talked about deep breathing exercises after it happened, but I was too mad and grossed out to make it work. But last night I really tried and it helped. It really did. Then I put on my sneakers and went out and began to run though the dark warm streets and it felt great. It didn't smell like a big city or Main Street USA. I could feel the air on my scalp and the blood pumping though my whole body and it didn't matter that there was no one there running beside me. Maybe I'll start running every night, get a schedule or something. It might help me sleep.
Or maybe Uncle Bunny will appear at my door and then I can show him how fast I can really run! Oh sure. Like Dad says: You always have to pay the piper.
Michael could make the bad dreams go away. Oh please! Let Michael give me good warm dreams to fill up my head so there's no room for these fucking terrors! I'm so sick of this! I just want what everyone else wants, right? A little love? Someone to care? What the fuck's wrong with that?
... November 29, 1964
...Monica found me. I hadn't been in school in days. I thought I had a bad cold, but it just got worse and worse and I was so tired I couldn't be bothered going downstairs to the kitchen to get anything to eat. I slept and went in and out of weird dreams. I hurt all over, and the coughing made it hard to breathe. Then one day there was Monica, forcing me to get dressed and into her car, and she took me to the doctor. Her doctor. She told him I was her cousin visiting from the US. He said I had pneumonia and gave me antibiotics. Then Monica brought me home and changed my bed and made me soup. Well, it was from a can but it tasted okay.
Next time I woke up it was getting dark outside and the rain sliced at the window and gleamed on the fire escape outside, making it look shiny and new. I think it was the next day, but I don't know. Someone was sitting on my bed, holding my hand. I thought I was hallucinating again, but it was Michael. For real.
"Don't die," he said.
"Stay," I said. "I won't die if you stay."
It sounds real corny writing it down, but not at the time.
Every day after school he comes over with homework and goes over the lessons with me. Of course, this doesn't really change anything. He's still married, still my teacher.
I never knew loving somebody could be this hard. It's like standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, with the wind tearing at you all the time, and the deep darkness calling to you, wanting you to make one false step. Just one. And I could ruin his life. And maybe mine. But I want him so bad! Love makes you selfish, I guess. I don't care about his wife. About anyone. Just us. To see the light in his eyes when he looks at me. They seem to get larger and deeper as I look into them. But I don't want to be